


Scar

by MarumeChiisa



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: F/M, Oneshots Collection, Semi AU, semi-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarumeChiisa/pseuds/MarumeChiisa
Summary: He was always the one ignited the fire, and she was always the victim. Or, was it? A collection of oneshots focused mostly on Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal's IV (Thomas Arclight) and Kamishiro Rio. Semi-canon, semi-AU, accidentshipping.





	1. Burn

**Author's Note:**

> _first of all, this is my first attempt in writing fanfic! Yes! I finally gave in the temptation and let myself write something that isn’t usually my style, using my second language, even! Somebody, clap my back, please! Okay, enough self-consciousness, on to the serious stuff. I’m serious that English isn’t my primary language. Therefore, I can’t provide you all with appropriate writing. I’m still getting the hang of writing-grammar, so, if you spot anything weird inside, do tell immediately (and, preferably, including correction). Critic and suggestion regarding writing composition is also welcome! And please be gentle! This is my first time writing fanfic. Ever. Honest! Oh, by the way, I was actually inspired by a few short fic about the same pairing, and feeling the urge to write an elaborate one myself to satiate my lust for drama. I’ll try my best putting the reference used in this fic, be it from another fanfic or other media. If I missed something, kindly remind me about it! :)_
> 
> _***_
> 
> _**Warning** : This fanfic is specifically themed angst for a couple of reasons. The main one is this being a fic dealing mostly of IV’s character study. As we all know (or maybe not, which is why I’m explaining it here), IV is quite an interesting character with a lot of undeveloped backgrounds in the anime. Had it been nurtured by my dramatic flair, it would change almost entire aspects of the show, steering it away from its original purposes for promoting the card game. My taste for IV’s flavored drama mentions a lot of mental-instability, madness, and self-inflicted blame. There may be some mild profanities, as well as disturbing imageries about blood, wound, and violence. You have been warned. Oh, and also, this fic consists of several oneshots that loosely connected to each other and with the anime. I fancy myself that this is the anime’s off-screen moments written in chronological order (I put note on which episode each oneshot was based on, if any). If you’re confused reading it, that’s probably my fault for popping out random incoherent ideas in the first place. Now, you have been warned, twice._
> 
> _***_
> 
> _**P.S.** To avoid confusion, let this humble writer clarify that IV's actually just an alias, and it's literally read 'four', after Roman numeral. His real name is Thomas Arclight. His brothers are III (Three/ Michael A.), and V (Vee/Christopher A.), father-slash-leader is Tron (Byron A.). Since the names used mostly in the anime were the aliases, I'll go with that for most part of this story. Their real names might be used some times for dramatic effect. Any other names used in this story were from the original anime series, not the dub._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based off the fire flashback scene in episode 58)_
> 
> _**Disclaimer** : Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

Everything was on fire.

Everywhere he looked, there were only flames, licking everything it touched, engulfing it in its scorching embrace. Debris' of the ruined building were also on fire, scattered all over his path. Even his red-and-blond tresses blended in rather nicely with the flaming background.

IV limped, not because of bad leg, but because of her weight started to burden his steps. The smell of smoke filling his nostrils didn't really help matter either. If he stayed there any longer, he'd have died of lung poisoning. But then, he didn't even know where he was; let alone looking for a way out. He could only see fire, as far as his eyes could see.

The girl, Rio, had fallen unconscious after a piece of debris hit her head—or so IV thought, since said girl was now leaning limply by his side, one arm draped over his shoulder. The blunette was drenched in sweat, face contorted in pain; he didn't have time to check for any injury, but that was the least of his worry.

Every step he took felt like dragging a steel ball, his breathing labored, and the time seemed to slow, as if the fire dulled every momentum around him. He was sick of fire and he wanted—no, had—to get out of this inferno as fast as possible.

Once he was out, the first thing he would do was to confront Tron. That brat had a lot explaining to do, especially about that  _card_.  _If_  he could get out of here, of course.

IV cursed that card, the card that had materialized real fire and starting this disaster. He cursed Tron, who had given him that card. The kid knew he could never win against her with his own deck. He never felt so humiliated in his sixteen years of life.

_That bastard…damn, go to hell!_

He repeated it inside his head like a chant, hoping that if he did it enough, it would actually happen. Of course he knew that was a long shot, but he needed something direct his anger.

Hatred and anger were two things that he understood the most. Determination to bring back his father, along with hatred towards whatever had caused his father trapped in that revenge-seeking child known as Tron were two things that drove him to do more than anyone else. His little brother, III, was too gentle to do this kind of dirty work, while his older brother, V, was too busy going over their plans and making sure Tron stay entertained. So, it was all on him now.

That feeling alone was probably the only reason he kept walking in his half-conscious state while dragging the girl's limp form along. In another normal circumstance, he would have passed out already. But 'normal' was erased from his dictionary after his father's disappearance years ago. Ever since that fateful day, all he could remember were unhappy memories.

Chris was lucky that he had been old enough when it all happened, so he hadn't had to be put into foster care and could continue his research to find out what had happened to their father. But Thomas and Michael hadn't been as lucky.

Almost the entire orphanage had jeered at them since they had come from a high-class background and therefore unaccustomed to the simple way of living there. Of course, Michael, being a kindred soul he was, didn't really mind to be made fun of as long as he could make friends. But, Thomas, suddenly been delegated as the older of the two, couldn't see it the way his brother could.

What had actually happened to their father? Why hadn't Chris said anything about it? Where had his brother gone? Where was he now? How long did he and Michael have to be there?

There were too many questions and no answer. He just wanted his brother back to tell them everything he knew—even if it meant learning the painful truth that maybe, just maybe, even if their father had perished, the still had each other.

But instead, they were stuck there, coping up with a bunch of country children. Thomas wasn't an easy child to begin with, and his current situation had only worsened his volatile temper. Slowly but surely, his heart began to be filled with hatred towards anything unknown to him.

Once he had gotten an answer, there were even more questions; as to how could their father be that creepy, masked child, and even if it was true, what happened to him that he ended up like that? All he could do was do as his brother and that kid told him, hoping there would be some logical explanations when they're finished.

Logical?

IV wanted to laugh at the irony. He was always the most illogical one among his brothers. Public appearances aside, anyone who had ever dueled him knew that he was as stable as Jekyll & Hyde; the one that would do anything to satiate his lust for destruction.

Right. He would make those people know that he wasn't easily stepped on;  _they_  were the ones that would be stepped on. That girl, too, who dared to deny his remarks about her twin brother, had to be taught some lessons.

What use was there if she died now?

He ceased walking; his whole body shook from anger, hatred, and heat. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't even breathe properly. He wanted to hit—or even destroy—things to channel his ever piling frustration or he would burst.

"The building is already destroyed. Isn't that enough?"

IV gasped upon hearing that voice and immediately turned his head to its direction. The voice echoed around him, so he wasn't sure where to look. But, even more important was that he knew that voice… there was no mistaking it…

Due to fatigue and smoke filling the air, his sight was slightly glazed, but the transparent figure looked very vivid in his eyes; the small, masked figure floating a mere inches away from him, hands folded behind his back, smirk plastered on the uncovered half of his face, chin raised in a regal bearing.

"Tron…" he hissed through his gritted teeth. The heat around him was nothing compared to the flame building inside his chest. His eyes fixed on Tron, every last bit of his nerves were ablaze, willed him to hit that smug smile off the masked face.

_It's all that brat's fault! It's all V's fault!_

"TRON!" roared IV, this time with his entire lung's might. All those piled up hatred was put into a single, loud roar as he lashed out his free arm to hit the translucent figure—never mind that his punch would just go through it. He didn't care.

In the midst of his rage, he didn't hear the pillar near his head groaned; its surface cracking. He wasn't even thinking to dodge at all, only his instinctive reflex that made him envelop her with an arm while shielding his head with his other arm, right when the first big piece of the pillar hit the back of his shoulder. His knees buckled and slammed into the ground with a loud thump, bringing her down with him, still held tightly within his embrace, while debris of the fallen pillar pelting down on them. Some of the protruding steel-wires from the pieces ripped through the flesh of the right side of his face and shoulder, and the fire immediately set his clothing alight.

Vaguely, he could hear pained yelp, followed by a scream. Was he the one screaming like that? He didn't even recognize the voice; he must've done it without even realizing it. Could it be that the girl was jolted awake by the impact and screamed? Was the fire…

IV could feel the fire spread over his clothing, and soon, his skin. Was he even at the liberty to worry over someone else's welfare? For all he knew, they would be devoured by fire any minute now, leaving nothing but ashes in a matter of hours.

Ryouga, the girl's twin brother, might seek revenge upon him. But if he died now, that wouldn't be his problem anymore. His only regret was that he didn't finish his duel with her.

It had been a long time since he met an opponent like her; one that wasn't provoked by his snide remarks when they were dueling. If the duel went accordingly, without real fire materializing from that card, the girl could still win over him. The only reason she didn't activate her trap card was because the fire started to burn everything. Any sane person would prioritize their own safety over winning some petty duels.

Well, it didn't matter anymore now. Any regret he felt would vanish along with his charred remains like a crumbling sandcastle. The last thing he remembered was the warm sensation of fresh blood pouring over his right cheek, and the sight of Tron, still calmly floating before him, not even a slightest hint of care in the eye behind that mask. It was probably just figment of his imagination anyway.

Whatever that was, it didn't matter anymore.

* * *

_**Word count** : 1,534_

_Reviews are always welcome! :3_


	2. Between Dream and Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on no episode in particular, but there might be nods to Tron and IV’s conversation in episode 57 & 58)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

IV jerked awake, gasping for air.

The first thing he realized was that he was lying on a soft, fluffy surface—most likely his own bed, covered with another layer of sheet up to his shoulder. His vision was a blur, but he could feel the moonlight poured from the window on the other side of the room, while the chilly night air invaded his bare shoulder.

 _That's right_ , he sighed. He was just awakened from a nightmare that involved dueling with a Kamishiro Rio, and then suddenly trapped in a fire. It all felt too real that he could still smell the smoke in his nostrils.

 _It_ _'s_ _just a dream..._  he told himself.

Slowly, he tried to sat up, and immediately felt a flash of pain radiating from the right side his body as he did so. He started to panic when he realized that his right sight was filled with darkness.

The middle Arclight brother began to hyperventilate as the pain becoming more intense when he moved his left arm to touch the source of the pain—the back of his right shoulder. He flinched when the tip of his fingers was met with a coarse surface instead of smooth skin he had anticipated. He knew it wasn't clothing since it was wrapped tightly around his torso, but that would mean...

"You're awake."

The redhead's immediate reaction upon hearing the familiar voice was to shout, "TRON!"

"You've been out for two days straight, you know. Well, seeing how you're so feisty, I guess you're okay, now," Tron said nonchalantly, suddenly appeared by his son's bedside, this time looked solid, still with his trademark folded hands behind his back.

"What did you do to me?! What did—" IV stopped when he choked on his own breathing.

Tron used the opportunity to explain, "You did well, Thomas. Just be thankful that I took all the trouble getting you out of there and treating your wounds."

"What the f—" demanded IV, but couldn't quite finish his sentence in between his ragged breath, as if someone had punched him in the gut, cutting the air out of his lungs when images began flooding his mind; images of flames, debris, and fresh blood.

"It wasn't a dream, Thomas. You've finished your mission to duel with Kamishiro Rio and almost got burned in the process."

"Duel?" he managed to wheeze out, fear starting to take over his face as his mind began to put the pieces back together. He intended to raise both hands, but only his left hand complied, grabbing one side of his head. He whimpered, at first, and then escalated into a full-scale terrified scream. Red blotches began to stain the bandage covering several parts of his wounded body.

Tron just stood watch by the sideline, not a hint of annoyance at the ear-splitting voice. He was instead looked rather amused by the sight, just like seeing a broken toy went out of control. When IV finished screaming his lungs out, he plopped back onto the bed unceremoniously, breathing heavily.

"If you can't stay still, the wound might get opened again," Tron said quietly.

"The girl... what happened to her?" IV asked in a low voice, his energy dissipated slowly along with his consciousness.

"Since when do you care about other people?" Tron retorted back with a scoff.

"Just answer the goddamn question!"

"How am I supposed to know?"

IV gaped in disbelief, his muscle tensed up again, but there wasn't much energy left for him to burst out anymore, so he just raised his voice slightly when he snapped, "You came and brought me out and then, what? You just left her there?"

"The girl's part is over. Whether she survived or not isn't relevant anymore."

"Quit fucking around! My job was  _to beat_  her in a duel, not  _murder_  her!"

"When did I give such order?"

That shut IV up as he realized the meaning. When he tried to remember the whole event, it was probably the most logical explanation, or else, he wouldn't have been given the modified spell card  _Flaming Hell Blessing_  in the first place.

"I only told you to duel with the girl, and the most important part was that you  _played_  the card I gave you."

"You—" IV didn't even know what else was there to say. There were too many revelations for his weakened mind to process all at once and he was even barely conscious.

"There's no need to be afraid. Even if the girl survives, I can still rig her memory to suit my need. That's a big if, though."

IV had never felt more powerless in his life; even more than when he had given up and let the fire devour him. He (probably) had killed someone, and he (probably) had to do it again until his father got his revenge.

When he had said he would do anything to bring back the father he knew, he hadn't thought that far. He just wanted his old family back. He would start some petty arguments with Michael, and Chris would play peacemaker, while their father would tell the three of them to gather and do something together. Everything would be all right then.

"Don't you like seeing people suffer with your duel? What makes the girl any different than your other opponents?"

The question was non-sequitur that it took IV a moment to process it with his hazy mind. "I just attacked them with virtual reality projection. They might get disoriented from the shock, but it was not real after all…  _that_  card, though… " he answered weakly, his own voice sounded really far, even to himself.

"I don't see the difference. Once a sadist, always a sadist. Your denial means that you're still too naïve," Tron replied matter-of-factly.

Silence hung in the air as IV had finally run out of energy to continue the argument, and used what was left to even his breathing, hoping that the pain would go away with every intake of breath. He didn't want to go back to sleep, lest the nightmare would haunt him again. But, of course, he knew the pain wouldn't go away as long as he stayed awake. It was either the burning pain or the torturing nightmare—he still hadn't figured out which was less painful.

"Don't force yourself. Go back to sleep."

Tron's usually high-pitched, childish voice suddenly got deeper and softer. IV turned his head to the side, hoping he would find the father he remembered. He could only make out a few indistinct shapes and lines, not enough to be convinced but enough to fuel his imagination that his father was there.

"The faster you heal, the faster we can proceed with our plans," Tron said again, this time putting a hand over his son's bandaged right arm. "You want to finish this quickly, right?"

That was what he needed to hear. To remind him that he did all these for his father. For his family.

"Let me beat Dr. Faker…" IV mumbled, letting himself to believe that it was really his father by the bedside. "Let me be the one to get your revenge, father…"

There was no response, he continued, "I'll do anything you tell me! I'll collect more  _Numbers_! I'll duel with anyone you order me to!  _Anything_! Just let me—" IV stopped when Tron's hand glided over the blood-stained surface of his bandaged arm, making him yelped in pain at the contact.

Tron's small, gloved hand barely grazed the bandage, but that was enough to set his nerves on fire. He could even feel the scorched raw skin stuck to the soaked bandage and it made him sick imagining what kind of wounds spread under the thin cloth.

"We'll see, Thomas. We'll see…"

That was all IV heard as he let his mind receded into darkness once again.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 1,318_

_Reviews are always welcome!_


	3. Wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on no episode in particular)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_  

* * *

"The injuries ranged from first to third degree burns, mostly second. There're also a few gash wounds. The worst one is on the back of his right shoulder. We may need to perform skin-grafting—"

"No." IV cut his brother short.

"I'm not talking to you, IV," V retorted back calmly.

"But I'm the one that'll undergo the procedure. And I said no."

"Do I need to show you the picture of your wounds  _again_?"

IV huffed, suddenly feeling nauseous when the images of his open wound danced inside his mind—though he refused to show any sign of it. The first time he saw them, he couldn't bring himself to swallow his lunch and dinner. He didn't know a burned skin with gash could look that gruesome. He turned his attention back to the book he was reading, still listening to the voice of his brother and their personal doctor talking in the background.

There wasn't much he could do lately, with the dominant half of his body mostly incapacitated, but lying on the bed all day long. III kept him company most of the time; changing his bandages and cleaning his wounds, even spoon fed him sometimes, when he was feeling particularly vindictive towards the unappetizing choice of meals he was forced to eat.

"It's easy to digest," III had said when he brought him a bowl of warm broth.

"It's savory  _water_. It would go through my stomach in, like, seconds," IV asserted, nose scrunched in disgust. To further prove his point, he snatched the bowl from the tray and downed the yellowy liquid in one go. He handed the empty bowl back to his brother and said, "There, can I eat something, now?"

"You just did."

IV groaned in frustration.

"The doctor doesn't recommend solid food just yet," III reasoned.

"How the hell a couple slices of bacon gonna aggravate my injuries? I'm eating them, not rubbing it on my open wound!"

"Just do as the doctor said, please. We only want what's best for you."

IV scoffed skeptically. "Could've fooled me. One would think he was trying to poison me with all the pills he's been prescribing."

The youngest Arclight boy stopped short on his brother's word. Hearing IV's complaint wasn't unusual, but hearing him throwing witty remarks usually meant something.

"Is there something bothering you,  _niisama_?" III asked carefully.

"Yes,  _the food_!" IV spat.

III sighed. Leave it to his brother to be unreasonably obstinate about something just to spite everyone else. He knew the doctor wouldn't give him anything that would worsen his condition, but his brother always found a way to disagree.

"The doctor said you can eat something a bit more solid, IV-niisama," announced III cheerfully another day, bringing in a small clay pot filled with plain porridge.

IV had refused to eat them the first few times, just because he had imagined something that he could actually eat, and not some watery substance impersonating a food. After a few exchanges of words (argument), III finally gave in and added small slices of chicken meat, and IV finally agreed on eating the slightly bearable dish.

The red-haired teen wasn't sure how much times had passed since that incident, but he was sick of being bed-ridden and helpless. He didn't like it even more when V talked to the doctor about what procedure that would be performed on him right before his face as if he couldn't hear them. True, he couldn't make sense of whatever the two was talking about most of the time, but it didn't take a genius to figure out which was worse; skin-grafting or tetanus shot.

"It's okay. You'll be fully sedated. You won't feel a thing," V told him, as if he could read his brother's mind.

"Don't fucking care," IV shot back spitefully.

The silver haired man ignored his brother's attitude and continued, "We will harvest the skin from your left torso to cover the burns on your right shoulder, neck, and face. Since the gash around your eye is a bit risky, we may not be able to heal it completely."

"Don't care even more."

"An injury that severe would leave scar, you know."

"Have you been listening? I said I don't care. It'll heal sooner or later anyway."

"This procedure will speed up your recovery."

"I like sprawling on the bed all day and being spoon-fed like some spoiled brat."

V raised his eyebrows at the answer. It was clear that his brother just said that in order to tick him. He knew that IV hated being dependent if he could help it. But IV was also the most stubborn among them; often let his ego take over his logic.

"You know what? I could just put some sleeping pills in your food and be done with the procedure before you even know it."

"How generous of you to let me know all about your diabolic plan." IV didn't even lift his face from his book, and it started to irritate his brother.

V decided not to pursue the point for the time being and returned talking to the doctor again. They discussed some other things for a few moments before the doctor left for the day. V showed him the way out, and then walked back to IV's room.

IV was still reading his book as he took seat on the chair by the bedside, resting his elbows on his thighs. The younger man still didn't acknowledge his presence, so he took his time observing the bandaged part of his brother's body.

Chris sometimes wondered what had happened to his little brothers in his absence. Michael, he decided, hadn't change much as he was always adaptable, though he would put a somber face every so often when he was reminded of his family before their father's disappearance. But Thomas certainly had gone through something during his time in the foster care.

His brothers had always been arguing about almost everything—mostly toys and card games—but it had been all merely childish fight at most. After they had separated, however, Thomas had transformed from a feisty, slightly wayward child who never meant any harm into a spiteful, bitter young man who had developed taste for profanities and sarcasm.

One thing that baffled him the most was that Thomas—even in his pain-reliever medication—didn't act like he was injured at all. He would openly protest that he wanted to eat something that he could bite, or that he refused to take any sleeping pills. He would complain, or even throw fit, every now and then if he didn't get what he wanted, but never once he showed any sign of weakness. If anything, he was even more stubborn than ever. It was enough indication that the red haired teen wasn't easy to bend on. He needed to say the right words to get through him.

"You want to get father's revenge, right?" V started after a few moment of consideration.

This time, V finally got the reaction he had been anticipating. IV closed his book and turned his head slowly.

"III might be able to do what you could, but Tron always makes sure that our plan went smoothly and accordingly with minimal risk. And that there're always backup plans when one or two things went out of control," explained V.

"Is 'something' that I need to do is part of main or backup plan?"

The older male didn't answer the question promptly, knowing that his answer would determine his brother's attitude towards their entire plan. His brother's hatred and resolution was one  _wild card_  that could be used some times in the future—or so Tron had said.

Contrary to popular belief, IV's rather blunt and destructive tendency didn't make him as shallow as it would seem. He was actually quite adept at toying people with words. If he wanted to, he could be either charming or terrifying—if he knew what kind of personalities he needed to show at the given time. The lack of ability to properly control his mood swing was probably the only thing that made his skill to be rather unreliable.

Just like duel cards they were playing; nobody knew exactly what kind of cards they were going to draw, and to counter that, duelists needed to put as many wild cards in their deck to counter various kind of situation. Now, all he needed to decide was how many of his brother's wild cards he should put in their deck of plans.

"Father believes in your abilities, IV. Your role is very important in this plan," was all V decided to tell his brother.

IV's maroon eye met his brother's cobalt, staring at each other for a few intense moments. Of course he realized that V had hedged around his answer, but he knew that his brother wouldn't be that stupid to plainly state a lie.

Whatever his brother meant to say, he would know if the plan went accordingly. And if he wanted it to happen, he had to get better first and foremost. He had to be part of that plan.

He sighed in defeat and said, "Fine, do whatever you like," and then started to read his book again.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 1,547_

_Reviews are always welcome!_


	4. Broken Puppet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on no episode in particular. Honestly, it just popped up randomly when I was halfway through the third installment. I'm trying to explore more about the other Arclight brothers, so it kinda provide a backstory as to why they followed Tron's order without question)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

They found him one stormy night, when they were bringing clean bandages and his night medication to his room, standing before the sink counter in the adjoining bathroom, head hung in between his hunched shoulders. Blood splattered all over the counter and floor beneath his feet, dripping slowly from the hand covering his right eye. The bandages that were supposed to cover the wound on his face scattered on the floor, almost unrecognizable among pools of blood.

III was too shell shocked to do anything but stood still in front of bathroom's door, while V—having recovered quickly from his initial shock—walked towards his younger brother. He winced slightly when the pad of his shoes squelched against fresh blood.

How could a few inches of gash wound spray that much blood? It could only happen if the muscles around said wound strained considerably. What had his brother seen to make him that tense?

As he got closer, he could see that his brother gripped the end of the counter with one hand until his knuckles whitened. His body shook uncontrollably, while his other hand that covered his right eye had its bandages soaked completely with blood.

"IV—"

"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" IV bellowed, lashing out his free arm and backed away. His unobscured eye was wide open, slightly glazed, its pupil dilated to the point it turned almost black as if he was afraid of something.

As far as V concerned, that was probably the case.

The silver haired man still wasn't sure what had gone wrong with the procedure his brother had undergone a few days back. He had made sure that his brother had been fully sedated, and while the execution had utilized robotic hand, it had been under supervision of their doctor. IV wasn't supposed to feel anything—or even move—for, at least, twelve hours.

But IV had abruptly awakened in the seventh hour since the procedure had started, dazed and confused at first, then started to scream bloody murder, thrashing and trying to wrench his limbs free from the restrain holding his body in place. To avoid further risk, they stopped the half-done procedure and bandaged him after a few more doses of tranquilizer.

Then again, it hadn't stopped there. He would occasionally murmur something incoherent in his sleep and every time the young man woke up, he was always looking at his surrounding with horror as if afraid something would jump out of the shadow and pounced on him. Due to the unstable condition, they were unable to proceed with the surgery.

That was the least of their worry, though. The wound would heal eventually, with or without surgery. What worried V the most was his brother's emotional state. IV was famous for his mood-swings in daily basis, but he was acting like a mental patient since the incident. It was pretty obvious that he was the one who undid the bandage on his face—for some unknown reason. If he kept that up, he might not be able to recover in due time, and would be a liability to their plan.

"I can rig his memory, if needed," Tron had offered when V told him about the incident.

"That's not what I'm concerned about, father," V replied, looking concerned. "IV was supposed to be fully sedated for half a day, but he woke up anyway, and that was when he started acting weird. He's always the stubborn one, who knows what'll happen if we play around with his memories?"

Tron glanced at his son, who stood by the side of his chair, looking slightly vexed that his watching time was interrupted. "That boy's only good at causing trouble," he murmured. "But he's a pretty important pawn in this plan. Broken strings can be reattached, but broken puppet is useless, huh."

Silence hung in the air, only the sound of the TV cartoon could be heard. V had reached his dead end, so he didn't say anything (otherwise, he wouldn't have asked his father), while Tron looked pensive, his gloved hands tapping the armrest of the chair.

"I give up!" Tron exclaimed after a few minutes contemplating, flailing his arms and legs like a frustrated child. "Do whatever you think necessary. I give you time until next week. If he's still uncontrollable, I'll take care of it. I can't take any more risk just because a broken puppet went out of control."

If V felt uncomfortable with the way Tron addressed IV with terms like 'pawn' and 'puppet', he didn't show it. But his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly when he said, "I understand, father."

The conversation had happened two days ago, and IV's condition had only worsened every day. Trying to talk some sense into him proved to be quite futile with his current condition, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept persisting, he would get somewhere.

"Let us help—" V was just about to explain—for heaven knew how many times he had tried it before—when his brother cut him again.

"Stop talking! I don't want to hear any of it!" IV cried, voice cracking. "How long are you going to keep me awake?!"

The older male's ears perked up at the new development. It was the first time his brother ever said anything other than "Shut up!" and such. He might be able to take advantage of this situation.

"Well, we're trying to help you rest…" V said carefully.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" the redhead shouted again, this time with both hands covering his ears, eyes clenched shut. "You're already dead! You're not real!"

"What do you see?"

IV bared his teeth, growled and stepped back slowly. "Enough…" when his back collided with the wall, his body sagged and slid down to the floor.

V used the opportunity to get closer. The younger male didn't react, probably had exhausted himself with the blood loss, his arms were now lying limply by his sides. He touched his brother's shoulder, and when he got no outward reaction, he said, "III, help me move him back to the bed."

III, who had overcome his shock, readily complied with his brother's request. When they had managed putting IV back on his bed, he was given the job to change the bandages and clothes, while V cleaned the bloody mess in the bathroom.

The oldest Arclight brother finally came into a few conclusions based on recent event. He couldn't even believe how stupid he had been. He felt like he should've seen it coming. His brother's refusal to take any sleeping pills, noticeable bag under his uninjured eye, and his constant bad temper were some details that he chose to overlook as common discomfort in someone who was recuperating from a rather serious injury, while, in fact, there might be some other reasons behind all that.

His brother didn't want to be forced to sleep. The red haired young man knew he would be assaulted by nightmares the second his consciousness failed him. He did sleep, just enough to regain his energy back, but not enough for the nightmare to wreck his sanity. The heavy sedative might have triggered his subconscious mind to reject the unusual sleeping pattern.

IV was, indeed, too importunate for his own good, and he always had to be the one keeping everything in place. He had failed them once, when they were forcefully taken away from him. He wouldn't have any of that again.

Now, he needed to find a way to put his brother's mind at peace; finding out what had become of Kamishiro Rio might help. At the time of the incident, there were reports of big fire where IV had dueled with the girl, but there was no report of casualty—not the dead one, at least. It was highly possible that the girl survived—even if she was heavily injured. He had to find out exactly what had happened to her, and her current condition.

While V embarked on his quest to find more information, III finally finished changing his brother's bandages. After the whole ordeal, his brother seemed uncharacteristically quiet. He was still awake, III could see that, but barely showed any sign of it. It was strange, III marveled, seeing his usually irate brother becoming this subdued.

He still had no idea what kind of task given to IV by his father and brother that he ended up like that. After tonight, however, he wasn't sure he would like to know more about it. He would be better off pretending to be—or even completely—oblivious about the whole thing. If he could distract himself, he was pretty sure he could do as his father told him to without any doubt.

Even as he determined to do so, curiosity always got the better of him. After all, he was always by his brother's side, attending to his needs and injuries, and it was kind of hard for him to ignore it if the object of his doubt were right before him.

How long did they have to do this? Until all of them became 'broken' like his brother?

III shivered at the thought. Of course Tron wouldn't treat them like pawns, would he? No matter what form he took, he was still their father, and he would do anything to make sure his brother recovered properly, wouldn't he?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was just convincing himself. He was old enough to understand that their family was already broken since their father's disappearance. There might be some things that could still be put together, but even if they succeeded with their revenge, there was no guarantee that everything would come back to the way it was. Memories of these nightmare-filled days would always be a grim reminder that they had to go through many things just to get their revenge.

What if his brother would never be fully recovered? What if he was already too far gone?

The pink haired boy could feel tears started to leak from his verdure orbs and immediately wiped it with his sleeve. He was already part of this plan, whether he liked it or not. There was no use weeping over the lost days. If they didn't change their own situation, who would?

Now wasn't the time to doubt their motives and objectives. He needed—no, had—to be strong mentally, if not physically, so that he would be trusted to play more important role in their plan. His brother had done his part, and he was still waiting for his.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 1,777_

_Reviews are always welcome!_


	5. Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened_ _in between episode 26-33_ _)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

IV stood before the door numbered 103, fist balled on each side. He stared at the numbers, blinking several times as if checking if he saw things right. It was still there, unchanged, and as solid as he could perceive. He was in front of the right door.

How long had he been standing there? Five minutes? Ten minutes? An hour? He felt like he'd stood there  _forever_ , still trying to decide whether he would proceed with his initial objective or not. How he ever thought he wanted to do it was still beyond him. He certainly hadn't been thinking straight then.

"Let me visit her!" he had said when his brother had told him that Kamishiro Rio was still alive and currently hospitalized in Heartland Central Hospital. He sat up, his good arm propped his body.

"I'm not the one deciding whether you can visit her or not," replied V, slightly surprised at his brother's sudden vigor, after showing no sign of life in the last few days but occasional incoherent murmurs.

"She's in intensive care, so, I don't think they'll let anyone visit except family members," V explained.

"Well,  _when_  will I be able to visit, then?" demanded IV.

"That, too, isn't up to me," V answered, looking a little flustered at the drastic change of attitude.

IV was just about to ask more when he felt pain creeping up his body. He almost forgot that his injuries were still far from healed. It had been a while since he felt this alive, he didn't even remember what had he been doing in the last few days. He was constantly attacked by nightmares that he was unable to tell which was real and which wasn't. But that wasn't his biggest problem now.

"You should rest. You need to get better first."

"I'm fine," IV said firmly through his gritted teeth. Anyone could see that he was fighting the pain; far from being fine. Before his brother could protest, however, he preceded, "What's my next assignment?"

The silver haired man was still too surprised to answer immediately. Indeed, he was trying to help his brother had some peace of mind by giving him information regarding the girl, but he hadn't expected such reaction.

Up until a few minutes ago, IV was still lying half-awake on the bed, but now, it seemed like nothing ever happened to him. If it wasn't for his brief but apparent pained expression, he would have thought his brother had fully recovered.

"We still have times before our next step—"

"I'm asking you about my next assignment!" IV snapped impatiently, his lips formed a straight line, a sign that he wouldn't hear whatever his brother had to say but the answer for his question.

Realizing that, V decided not to start some pointless arguments and fished out a  _duel pad_  from his pocket. He handed it to his brother and said, "There're copies of information about Numbers that we have to collect. Some of them already belonged to someone. Learn it and start making a strategy to counter that."

"Just collecting Numbers?" asked IV, fingers busy tapping the pad's screen.

"There're also a few instructions regarding our plan. Well, your part, at least," V added,

The red-and-blond haired teen studied the instruction intently. If he wasn't allowed to do something, then he would read something about what he would soon be doing. It made a good distraction for a while.

" _Duel Circuit_ …?" he muttered to himself. "Do I have to do all these?"

"No. Just do as much as you can. Some of them are just suggestions, but the important parts are all highlighted. Those are the ones you have to do. The rests are optional," V explained, curious that his brother said nothing about the contents.

IV plopped his back to the pillows on the headboard of the bed, never once removed his attention from the contents of the pad. V, feeling that his presence wasn't necessary anymore, stepped out of the room quietly.

A week after that conversation, some of IV's minor injuries had its bandages removed, so he could move more freely. He decided that the rest of his wounds weren't hindrance anymore, even though their doctor still hadn't recommended activities that would strain his muscles (of course IV waved it away).

To fill his time before Duel Circuit, IV busied himself with gathering information and strategized his move. III, who wasn't convinced that his brother's injuries were fully healed, kept watch of him despite IV's fervent refusal to be hampered.

"I told you, I'm fine," IV said to III when he was out of duel simulator, having finished his third round that day.

The pink haired boy said nothing and crossed his arms in front of his chest, body leaned to the wall, throwing sidelong glance at his brother's half-bandaged face. It was true that his brother always acted like nothing happened, but he knew better than that.

"Don't you have anything else to do? Stop pestering me and make yourself useful for once, will you?" IV grumbled, taking the D-Gazer off his left eye.

"I haven't been assigned anything for the time being," III answered solemnly.

IV threw another D-Gazer at his brother. "Want to be my sparring partner, then? The AI's strategy's getting boring."

III caught the D-Gazer and stared at it with a frown adorning his forehead. "We don't need this for dueling, do we?"

"It's just for show in Duel Circuit. There aren't many people knew about our D-Gazer tattoo, yet," IV explicated, whirling his own D-Gazer with his fingers. "If we show our power in public without permission, V and Tron would have our hide."

"It's rare that you just followed their orders without saying anything, niisama."

"I'm bored right now, so, I'll just play along with their scheme."

With that answer, III was able to conclude that his brother was trying to divert his attention from something that bothered him; it could be another nightmares or the pain. He wished that his brother would entrust him more with his problem, but he also knew that IV, in particular, wasn't someone who would willingly admit his own shortcomings. It sometimes pained III at how his brother always keeping everything bottled up to himself. It might be just his arrogance, or his own way to protect himself and people around him. Whatever it was, he chose to respect that decision, as long as his brother didn't do anything reckless, he felt no need to meddle.

The next few weeks passed in a blur for the Arclight brothers—especially for IV. Right after Duel Circuit started, the red haired teen dedicated all his time and energy to complete his assignments; participating and winning the Duel Circuit—even if he had to resort to underhanded means (it was part of the plan, anyway), hunting Numbers, unleashing his infamous temper to anyone unlucky enough to be in front of him when he was in a foul mood.

Weeks turned into months, and he went through another uneventful birthday. In the midst of it all, he almost forgot about the incident that nearly claimed his life, but then got abruptly reminded when he had to mention said event to further provoke Kamishiro Ryouga. It came rather easily out of his mouth like he had no regret whatsoever. He even enjoyed seeing Ryouga's face contorted with fury as he said so while inside, he was divided between actually having a good time getting the desired reaction and feeling repulsed by his own action. It felt almost surreal at times, as if he had two different personalities while being completely aware of everything he did, like living a life in constant self-contradiction. He was no stranger at contradicting himself, but doing it just to spite everyone else was definitely different than doing it to prevent himself from questioning their action.

And when the opportunity to visit the girl presented itself, IV wasted no time dashing to the hospital. He didn't even consider why or what for he did that, he just felt like he had to do it. He still hadn't thought about it when he stepped into the building, or when he took his time climbing his way up the stairs, instead of using elevator, trying to prepare himself to face the demon. It was when he arrived in front of her room that it all dawned upon him like deadweight, putting another burden to his already wretched mental state, realizing that the one he had to face was his  _own_  inner demon.

It finally occurred to him that she might not want to see the person who made her ended up like that. Even if the girl didn't know he was visiting, what would he accomplish from doing that? Means to justify his actions or even more guilt? He considered the option of turning back while he still had the chance, but couldn't afford it now that he had come all the way here, so he might as well get this over with.

The middle Arclight boy inhaled deeply, releasing his clenched fists along with his breath. It'd be nothing, he thought, he just wanted to see how the girl was doing and then he'd left; quick and painless. With a lot of trepidation, he pushed the door slowly, as though preparing himself should anything was thrown his way from behind the door.

The first thing he saw in the dimly lit room was row of machines surrounding the lone bed in the middle of the room. Some holographic monitor floated above the bed, showing various moving lines indicating vital signs of the bandaged figure lying on the bed. Her body was fully covered by a sheet up to her shoulder, and her head was wrapped entirely with bandages, leaving only the nose and mouth's part to put on the oxygen mask.

IV stepped into the room quietly and, trying with all his might, closed the door behind him without making any sound. The girl seemed unconscious but he didn't want to take any chance. He stood rigid in front of the door, unsure as to what he was supposed to do now that he had seen the girl's bandaged, unmoving state. He never felt more stupid in his entire life.

Was she in a coma? Had she ever awoken before? How severe were her wounds? Was she in pain? Did Ryouga come to visit her frequently?

The last question brought him back to reality. That was one thing he should've had considered before coming here. What if Ryouga came when he was still inside? He would definitely be killed on the spot, no doubt about it.

 _Fuck it all_ , IV thought exasperatedly, his list of today's committed idiocy just kept increasing and he didn't want to find out how long he could keep such feat. He was about to turn around and leave when the girl's voice rang inside the small room.

"What are you doing here?"

IV's blood curled, body went stiff from head to toe, even his breath hitched, hoping that he would become invisible just by erasing his presence. But, then, he realized that the girl wouldn't be able to see him nonetheless. He didn't even want to know if she knew  _who_ exactly was in the room.

"You're not Ryouga or hospital's staff. What are you doing here?" she asked again, her voice loud and clear for someone who was injured and wore an oxygen mask.

 _She doesn't know…_  IV wanted to sigh in relief, but couldn't bring himself to for fear of revealing his identity (despite the slim chance).

Silent again, only the beeping sound of the machine could be heard. Tension hung in the air, making the small room suddenly felt even smaller and suffocating, and memories of that day came rushing back to his mind as it was practically the same situation minus the fire. He wanted to get out of there, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

"You see, I might not be able to move freely, but I have an emergency call button attached to my hand. I could call someone right now—"

"How do you know I'm not Ryouga?" the question slipped out of his lips unwittingly, he didn't even realize he had asked that out loud until he heard his own voice echoed in the room.

The girl turned her head his way and IV was convinced that she could see through her bandages—if not literally, he might as well had exposed himself with his voice alone.

"I just do," she answered simply. "Now, answer my question, IV."

"Visiting. What else does it look like?" he replied sharply, cheeks flushed, feeling grateful that she couldn't see him in that state.

"Oh, I don't know, trying to assassinate me, perhaps?"

"I'm not a murderer!" he denied automatically.

"It's kind of hard to imagine after what you've done."

"Even if I explain, you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"I think I should go now—"

"Coward."

"What did you say?!"

There was a pause. IV was still standing awkwardly in front of the door, fists balled again, but this time for entirely different reasons. He was furious at the girl for provoking him, and at himself for being easily provoked.

"I heard from Ryouga. You tricked him in Duel Circuit, didn't you?" she continued.

IV swallowed hard, his throat clenched when he said, "I just did what I was ordered to."

"The fire from that card, too?"

"I told you, you wouldn't understand!" he snarled, frustration evident in his voice for being unable to properly explain his situation. He never even bothered to try as he had presumed that it would be of no use anyway, since the girl wasn't likely to hear his reason. But he kind of wished he had thought of something better to say than his repetitive denial. He winced at how pathetic he sounded. "You can hate me all you want. I'm not trying to justify anything. I  _had_  to do it…"

"Then, why did you come?"

The red-and-blond haired teen couldn't answer that question, not because he hadn't actually thought about it, but because he didn't want to admit that he was still haunted by the nightmare about that incident. He didn't want to openly state that he was actually feeling guilty for what he had done. He had determined to do anything to bring back his father, and guilt was the last thing he needed right now. True, he couldn't erase the feeling completely, but, at least, he wouldn't have to hear it.

"You have some nerves coming here and speak with such audacity."

Kamishiro Rio, he shouldn't have underestimated that girl. Even in her current condition, she was capable of making him felt like he was the lowest being ever existed in the entire universe. Maybe that was exactly what he had been looking for. He came here voluntarily, hoping she would beat him black and blue, so that he could diminish some of his guilty consciences.

On the other hand, he felt disgusted at himself; disgusted at how coward he was, incapable of defending himself against a girl that could barely move in her bed, and also disgusted that despite knowing his action had almost killed someone, he hadn't tried to stop it and was, instead, trying to make himself feel better by letting said someone insulted him relentlessly.

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

IV's lips tightened, teeth gritting inside, unable to form words whatsoever. He could feel the taste of copper inside his mouth, nails digging the flesh in his balled fists while a burning sensation began spreading inside his chest. Any longer he stayed there; he would definitely self-combust. He turned back swiftly and opened the door, then rushed outside before he could change his mind.

It was a mistake to visit her. Big mistake.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 2,658_

_Reviews and kudos are always welcome!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Author’s Note_ ** _: for any of you wondering why there was mention of IV using D-Gazer in this chapter, I’ll make it clear here. In the flashback where IV was shown dueling with Rio (check episode 58), he already had his D-Gazer tattoo. But when he faced Ryouga in Duel Circuit (check flashback in episode 26), he wore a D-Gazer on his left eye (Rio was already hospitalized by that time). So, I thought, there might be some reasons behind that, which cropped up in this chapter! Yup, there’s that._


	6. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Author's note_ ** _: Psst, the idea actually came after I finished writing the seventh installment, so, there might be some repetitive element found it both chapters (you'll see when I posted them). This chapter was made in consideration that the first 5 chapters were mostly written from IV's point of view. I was really engrossed in IV's character that I haven't done the other any justice (that, and the fact that I couldn't care less about any other character but beloved Thomas). But exploring the other's POV proved to be really therapeutic. Gonna do something like this in the future again! XD (maybe)_
> 
> _(based on no episode in particular. Happened shortly after previous installment)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

She was there again, in the midst of flames. He was there, too, gripping her shoulder tightly that it hurt. His body jerked several times, when the debris struck his back, but he stayed silent. Her sight was a blur at first, and when everything came into focus, all she saw was cleaved shoulder, bleeding profusely, slowly engulfed in fire.

Rio screamed, legs flailing, trying to wrench free, but he only tightened his grip, teeth clenched while pieces after pieces of debris kept hitting him.

And then, he was gone.

The blunette didn't have time to wonder where he had gone or how. She immediately scrambled to her knees, trying with all her might to find a way out of jungle of jagged concrete. She was practically surrounded by ruins, and she could only get out if she climbed out of it. And she did; clumsily made her way up the pile of debris and when she arrived on top, she could see that there was less obstruction beyond it. Hope bloomed in her chest; she could get out of there.

In her frantic search for way out, the fact that she was almost covered in fire never registered in her brain. As soon as she stepped down from the heap of bricks, her knees gave way and her body crumpled to the ground. Vaguely she could make out the sound of siren blaring, more thumping shook the ground; whatever remained of the building probably toppled over, or maybe that was multiple footsteps approaching, she wasn't sure which as her consciousness was slowly consumed by darkness.

When she woke up, she was lying on a bed, sight filled with darkness, unable to even move a single finger—or even feel her body at all. She got panicked and hyperventilated, then voices started to echo around her; voices of man, woman, shouting orders, shuffling around her bed, doing God knew what. They did something to her, she was sure of that, but she had no means of comprehending it. The only working sense that she could rely on was her hearing, but that didn't provide much as everything was in chaos. Before long, she drifted off into oblivion once again.

The next time she woke up, she was still in the same condition as the first time, and deciding that she wasn't dreaming after all. The fire was real, her  _injuries_  were real, and she was strapped here, incapacitated, was also real. She wanted to know about the nature of her injuries, so she started paying attention to whatever occurred around her, relying only to her ears. It was hard to concentrate—or even stay awake for long at first, but it got longer every time, probably a sign that she was definitely getting better.

At times, she would wake up when the doctor was talking to someone else about her condition and learned that her injuries were  _bad_ ; third-degree burns on most of her limbs, first to second degree on the rest of her body. She couldn't believe it at first as she felt no pain at all, but that was probably because the bandages were wrapped tightly. At one point, the topic of surgery surfaced, they talked something about grafting and sedative, and a few days after that did she start enduring the pain and nightmares.

It was the same one every single time; memories of that incident played inside her dream in endless loop. She'd be jerked awake sometimes, all of her vital signs indicator went wild, and the nurses would rush into her room to give her some tranquilizers. She finally got used to it that she wouldn't cause a stir every time she endured one. But then, another series of unpleasant things reached her ears.

Ryouga was allowed to visit when she was deemed stable enough to receive visitors. The boy would tell her a lot of things in his visit, and she'd reply if able. He never asked her about what had happened (she wasn't sure if he did it deliberately or genuinely thought it was just an accident) and she was grateful for that as she didn't want to be reminded of that day. When Ryouga told her about what happened in Duel Circuit, she was furious at first and her cardiograph started running wild again, everything happened after that was a blur.

She was denied visitor for a few days after that, not even Ryouga. When her twin was finally permitted to visit again, he was crying, apologizing, begging for her not to leave him. She chuckled at the image of her brother's sniveling face and then, they were back teasing each other again, as if she wasn't injured at all.

She didn't know how much times had passed, but she felt she was getting better at reading her surrounding with just her hearing. She would know if someone was coming to her room and could even guess exactly who came (her choices ranged from Ryouga, the doctor, the nurses or any other hospital staff, and anyone else who wasn't listed above, though the last one was less likely). She had fun imagining about how they looked like, their mood, what they were doing in her room, all by judging from the sound they made. She was always excited whenever someone came into her room, ready for another guessing game.

Until the day the subject of her fury actually came to visit.

She hadn't anticipated it at first, thinking it was one of her classmates visiting. But then he blurted out, making her good mood evaporated instantly. She couldn't restrain her hatred that she threw hateful remarks at him. IV retaliated weakly, as if he hadn't prepared for it and she could feel some sort of smug satisfaction after he stopped replying before finally stalked out of the room. She couldn't wait to tell Ryouga about it.

But then, the nightmare invaded before her brother's visit.

She was there again, in that inferno with him. His blood-stained battered form left her restless for the following days. Every time, she noticed new details; like how the flames spiraled above their heads looked like dancing meteors (it would look rather beautiful in some other occasions), how everything around them was either groaning or lashing, sending fragments or burning heat, trying to cage them in, how many pieces of debris fell on them—him (he was at least struck fifteen times, if not more when she was still unconscious), and lastly, the most vivid one was how the blood from the gash soaked the right side of his overcoat.

She was too consumed in her anger that she overlooked the rather grisly details of her dream. He had been wounded too, she remembered, probably as bad as hers—if not worse. She wondered where he had been brought after that incident (she knew for a fact that he had already recovered from his injuries since he had participated in Duel Circuit), or if he was having nightmares too. Was that the reason he had come, to relieve him from his nightmare?

Now, guilt began to overcome her hatred. She never heard his side of the story, and it was unfair if she judged him without first hearing it from him. She would definitely ask for an apology if he came to visit. That was a big IF, though. She doubted he would come to visit again anytime soon.

Maybe, just maybe, if the nightmares pushed her enough, she'd beg to Ryouga to bring him to her.

Tonight, she was on it again. She was there again.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 1,_ _270_

_Reviews and kudos are always welcome!_


	7. Broken Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on no episode in particular. Happened shortly after Zexal I’s end)_
> 
> _This chapter was partly inspired from_ _**[Flakes](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8316903/1/Flakes)**_ _by_ _[pirouetta](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1509250/pirouetta)_ _(click to see). I like their writing style! It’s full of wordy descriptions that I could only hope to fare with my still-limited vocabularies *sigh* I’m definitely going to get better! Alright! Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p_
> 
> _**Author’s Note** : Remember the scene where Chris/V fell by Michael/III’s bedside before going into comatose state? (Check the end of episode 56) I’m still wondering as to who put him on his bed (oh, yeah, two more beds appeared magically besides III’s for IV and V each), as they were awaken side by side in episode 67. I figured it was probably Thomas, as he was the last one to fall, but, by what means did he transport the beds? I really wanted to write something about that, but I couldn’t come up with anything plausible... or even dramatic, so, let’s just forget about it and get on with some more IV-Rio’s interaction! Hahaha! *evil (frustrated) laugh* Oh, by the way, I did find a nice fic about Arclight brother when they woke up after the coma (the closest I could get with my attempt). It’s titled ‘ **[Awakening](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9563178/1/Awakening)** ’ by [SilvorMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilvorMoon/pseuds/SilvorMoon) (they didn't post it here. Do check it out, it’s a really nice family fluff!)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ **_: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

"You seem awfully cheery today," Ryouga commented when he visited his twin sister's room one afternoon.

Rio, who was still lying while humming on her bed, looked even more cheerful upon hearing the familiar voice. She immediately sat up and said, "Ryouga! Listen! The doctor said that I don't need to wear oxygen mask anymore!"

Ryouga was surprised at first. It had been a while since the last time he had visited his sister as he hadn't been allowed to go out of his room for his injury (which was worse than he had anticipated). He swept the room in one quick glance and found that it was a lot more spacious with fewer machines occupying it. The curtain was drawn open, allowing sunlight to pour over the room. At last, his gaze fell on his sister, who was now sitting straight on the bed; wavy blue hair fell smoothly to her back. Most of her bandages were already removed; leaving only the parts wrapping her arms and eyes.

"Oi, is it okay for you to move that much?" Ryouga asked, taking a seat on the chair by the bedside.

The blunette crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "Have you been listening? I'm much better now! The doctor even said that I could attend physiotherapy session this weekend. So, I won't have to be bed-ridden anymore!"

Ryouga smiled at the sight. "Well, just don't force yourself, then."

"I miss school so much, you know. I haven't practiced my dueling in the last few months, there's also a lot of schoolwork I need to catch up on…" Rio complained.

"You'll be fine. I mean, even I could pass after skipping most classes, anyway," Ryouga assured.

"Yeah, you passed after two make-up exams, didn't you?"

"Wha—who told you that?!" Ryouga exclaimed, almost falling off the chair.

"Kotori told me a lot in her visits," Rio explained, shaking her head. "Apparently, you've built another nasty reputation while I'm not watching, huh?"

"T—that's your fault for making me stressed out! I needed to do something to vent all that!" Ryouga stammered, pointing a finger at his sister, cheeks flushed red.

"How is that my fault?"

"Well, it's just that!" Ryouga persisted, turning his head the other way, unable to face his sister without turning even redder—and she couldn't even see him.

Rio laughed softly at her brother's immaturity. But then, she was reminded of something else and frowned. "Speaking of which, Kotori told me that you were injured pretty bad in World Duel Carnival. Are you alright, now?"

"Of course I am or they wouldn't allow me to come here, would they?" Ryouga replied a bit too harshly than he had intended. Unconsciously, he touched part of his clothes covering bandaged abdomen, willing himself to forget the still-fresh memories of blood seeping from his open wound.

"You should've told me about that! Why didn't you say anything?!" Rio scolded.

"I just didn't want to make you worry. The least you can do is thank me," Ryouga scowled indignantly.

"Thanking you for  _what_ , exactly? I almost got heart attack when I heard about that, you know. I don't want to hear something like that anymore! Didn't we promise that we'd face everything together?"

"Okay, mum." Ryouga rolled his eyes, didn't even try to retaliate; part of him knew that she was right.

Rio clapped her hands. "Alright, now, spill!"

" _What_ , now?"

"What happened during WDC?"

"I'm sure you've heard everything from Kotori."

"Well, you were the one who went through all that. I want to hear it directly from you," Rio stated matter-of-factly.

Ryouga's mouth twitched. He wasn't in any mood for story-telling, especially not one involving IV in front of Rio. Even more was that he didn't want to relive the rather odious event of him being manipulated by Tron, but he couldn't budge now that Rio had already known, at least, the summarized version from Kotori. She would definitely nag him if he refused to tell until he snapped and told her anyway.

Reluctantly, he began telling Rio his side of the story, carefully choosing the words so that he wouldn't let out too much unnecessary detail (he had pride to maintain in front of his sister after all, among other things). Rio listened silently, showing various range of expression every so often, but never once interrupted her brother. It was when Ryouga reached the part where he dueled with IV that her brows furrowed deeper, bit her lip, and turned her head.

"I still haven't forgiven him for what he did, but he said he tried to save you from that fire. Do you remember something?" Ryouga asked, noticing his twin's distress.

Rio laughed dryly and replied, "I think I should apologize."

"What do you mean? Apologize to whom?" Ryouga looked even more confused.

The blunette turned her head again at her twin, a wry smile plastered on her face. "To you, and maybe, to IV, too…" she answered, looking like someone got caught red-handed doing something she shouldn't. Ryouga was too dumbfounded to say anything at the moment and waited for his sister to continue.

"I never told you about it before, but…" she paused, this time it was her turn to hesitate. "But I knew that IV did try to save me. Even got himself hurt pretty bad in the process, I think…"

"He has a scar on his face, but I don't think it was that bad," Ryouga said, his expression darkened the next second. "Your injuries, however—"

"You wouldn't understand, Ryouga," Rio interjected grimly. "I woke up when we were pelted down by debris, and the first thing I saw was bloody shoulder covered in fire…" she stopped again, feeling vaguely nauseous at the sudden reminiscence.

One of the reasons she was reluctant to speak of it was because she didn't want to be reminded of the rather gory scene she had witnessed that day. It was even more so when she tried to describe it with words, so she decided not to elaborate and went on with another important details that didn't involve too many blood and wound.

"He was really still that time, even when I screamed in his ear, or when a piece of the debris hit his wounded shoulder. He just kneeled there and let the fire devour him. Maybe he had given up…" she halted again. "My burn injuries were bad, yes, but my skin was barely scratched—at least no gash wounds and such. If it wasn't for him—"

"But he left you there, didn't he?" Ryouga persisted, unwilling to believe what he just heard.

Rio shook her head. "I'm still not sure what had actually happened, but there was this big black hole emerged behind him and then he was gone in swirls of light just like that…"

Ryouga raised his eyebrows when he recognized the similar method of teleportation of some sort IV had used before him. "He could do that," he told her. "In the end, he only tried to save his own skin. That bastard…"

"I don't think so… it's just…" Rio paused, looking pensive. "I don't think he was the one opening that portal."

"What makes you think so?"

Rio shrugged. "Well, I just presumed."

"I'm still not convinced, though…"

"He visited me, once."

"What?!"

"Relax, he didn't do anything. He was gone after a few minutes. Come to think it, it may be because of something I said back then…" she explained. "I was furious at first that he dared to come after what he had done to you and insulted him."

"Ha, I believe he deserves every word," Ryouga snorted.

"But then, when I thought about it again, I might have been too harsh on him… I mean, he did say that he  _had_  to do it. Do you know what that was about?"

Ryouga contemplated for a moment, trying to scrape out the details from his memories. "Something about getting revenge on Dr. Faker and all that stuff, or maybe to get his father back, blah blah. I wasn't really paying attention since I was really angry then."

"Revenge, huh? I think you, of all people, would understand his position." Even with her bandaged eyes, she could imagine her brother's confused face just by hearing him. She added, "Well, you confronted him to get my revenge, didn't you?"

"Something like that, I guess…" he trailed off.

"He must have been under some sort of pressure to go that far."

"Where did you get such idea? You barely knew him."

"I have a lot of time thinking about a lot of stuffs in my stay here. There was only so much I could do with all those bandages. You might say I got better at recognizing things around me, physical or emotional, like sixth sense of some sort."

"That brought you to what kind of conclusion, precisely? IV wasn't all that bad and he was just a little misguided helpless child?" Ryouga snorted derisively.

"For one, I think you two should be friends. You two have a lot in common, starting from revenge-seeker, bull-headed—"

"I don't want to listen to this," Ryouga interrupted, cheeks flushed red.

"I can tell you're blushing." Rio giggled and Ryouga was sure that nothing could stop his sister from  _seeing_  him being off-guard. "Just kidding. But do tell him that I'm sorry if you meet him again, 'kay?"

"He should be the one apologizing first. He did apologize to me once, but I won't acknowledge it until he does it right in front of you," Ryouga noted sourly.

"Do you have to be so salty about it? That's what makes people dislike you, you know."

"I don't need to hear their opinion. I'm fine doing things my own way."

The blunette waved her index finger right before the purple haired boy's face. "Grow up, Ryouga—" she was interrupted when the door of the room was slammed open.

"Ryouga! I know you're doing far better now, so stop hiding and—"

Both twins turned at the door, surprised at the unexpected intrusion by someone who sounded and looked eerily familiar with the one they just talked about. The person in question wasn't in any better shape himself when he saw the two occupants of the room. He stopped in the doorway, eyes threatening to pop out of its socket. Before any of them could say anything, he turned back and slammed the door close. Before long, the twins could hear some ruckus from behind that door.

"You said it was Ryouga's room, you pathetic excuse of a staff!" IV shouted.

"Eh… um… well, I only said Ryouga was  _in_  that room…" the voice of a woman replied, slightly cringed at the sudden outburst.

"Was that…?" Rio looked unsure as to how to react.

Ryouga sighed exasperatedly and stood up. "I'll take care of it," he said and started to head for the door.

"Ryouga," Rio called before her twin could reach the door. The latter turned slightly, waiting for whatever his sister had to say. He murmured his acquiescence and resumed his track.

As expected, IV was berating the nurse who, apparently, had told him of Ryouga's whereabouts. The red-and-blond haired young man didn't give the woman any chance to explain herself and kept yelling relentlessly.

"If you're trying to blow her ear off, you're doing a magnificent job, you know," Ryouga commented, finally directing IV's attention to him so that the poor woman could escape.

"You stay out of it," IV snapped, turning his head to the purple haired boy. "I'm just here to tell you that me and my family are going somewhere far away after this. That's it." He started to turn back.

"What's the matter, Mr. Asian Champion? Unable to face your own nightmare so much that you want to run away?"

IV stopped in his track for a fragment of second before continuing his steps without turning back, refusing to take Ryouga's bait. Before he could get too far, however, something small and solid slammed the back of his head so hard that he staggered a little at the impact.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" IV exploded and turned around, fists clenched. The projectile D-Gazer clattered on the floor by his feet.

"I'm not finished, yet," Ryouga replied nonchalantly.

"I don't have any more business here."

The purple haired boy shoved his hands into each pocket, looking evidently unwilling to relay the message, but said it anyway, "Rio wants to talk to you, and I will drag you there if I have to."

"What, you've turned into that rabid woman's minion now, huh?" IV replied harshly, unable to suppress his disdain at the unexpected turn of event. He still hadn't gotten over his last encounter with the girl, and he wasn't about to reopen the sack of cat anytime soon.

IV didn't even see Ryouga moved, but suddenly, he was already grabbing him by the collar. "Next time you say something like that again, I'm going to make you sorry ever been born," he threatened, the glint in his eyes indicating that he was serious. "Now, follow me."

Realizing that Ryouga wasn't bluffing, IV let himself being dragged to the girl's room. A part of him wanted to wrench free, but he had already caused too much troubles up until now and still too tired to start another one. Besides, whatever the girl had to say to him (he presumed another strings of insult), he probably deserved it. He might as well get the whole thing over with right here and now.

When they entered the room again, IV couldn't immediately see the girl as Ryouga blocked his line of sight, but he did notice that the room looked slightly less foreboding with more sunlight and fewer beeping machines.

Rio was still sitting up on the bed, hands folded on her lap. A smile bloomed on her face when she heard the footsteps of the two approaching. "Thanks for the visit, IV."

IV caught a glimpse of the girl before deciding that the plain floor beneath his feet was more interesting. She looked far better now, with less bandages and more colors on her otherwise pale cheeks, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at her for too long; it reminded him of a lot unpleasant things that he had done, feeding his guilty conscience even further.

"You don't need to be too civil to him, Rio. He doesn't deserve it," Ryouga remarked snidely, still holding IV's collar.

"Ryouga, could you please step out for a moment? I want to talk in private," Rio said, ignoring her brother's attitude.

"Wha—you want me to leave you alone with this bastard?" his grip on IV tightened.

"I still have this emergency call button." Rio twiddled said button in her left hand and added, "Please?"

For the umpteenth time that day, the purple haired young man had no choice but to comply with her twin's request. He started to head for the door begrudgingly, stopping for a few second to whisper, "If you try something funny, I'll kill you," just loud enough for IV to hear.

IV himself remained tacit by his place when the door slammed close behind him. The girl's greeting certainly wasn't what he had expected and he was pretty sure it was just sarcasm.

"You can sit down here, so we can talk." Rio pointed the chair by the bedside.

"I'm not here to visit you," IV spat, still rooted on the spot, eyes fixed on anywhere but her.

"Well, you've come all the way here, anyway." Rio smiled and reiterated, "Sit down here, come on."

"If you're going to insult me again, save your energy, I can do it myself—"

"I want to apologize," Rio cut him.

"What?" IV was flabbergasted, finally lifted his face.

"I want to apologize about the other day. You came all the way to visit and I shouldn't have treated you that way," uttered Rio. "And I want to thank you, too, for protecting me that time."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's hard to hear from over there, right? Sit down here, so you can hear me better."

"You know what I meant. If that's your way to make me feel uncomfortable, you're one hell of a charmer."

"Did I say something that offended you?"

The red haired young man gritted his teeth, unable to comprehend the girl's attitude. Just a few weeks ago, she acted like he was the most unforgivable, despicable human being, but what was with the overly civil attitude just now? There was no way she meant it, right? She was just trying to be sarcastic, right?

"IV?"

Rio's voice snapped IV out of his reverie, sweat dropped from his temple.

"This is the fourth time I say this. Sit down." Then, she decided to add after a few seconds passed, "Please?"

Hearing her plead proved to be too much for him that he finally did what the girl said. The bed wasn't that far away from the door, and he could reach it in just a few steps, the fact that he dreaded since that meant he'd get there sooner. The moment he was seated, Rio reached out a hand to him. She was used to feeling Ryouga's presence by the bedside that it didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for. She could feel him flinched under her fingers.

"Ryouga's right, there's a scar…" she mumbled, looking slightly astonished. She trailed the jagged vertical bump down his face to his shoulder.

IV tensed even more when her hand rested on the fabric over his scarred shoulder. Memories of that day came tumbling back; she was unconscious, he was battered and bloodied, they were devoured by fire. She being right before him and touched the remnants of it only worsened the endless loop of images. He wanted to back away so that he would be out of her reach, but his body just wouldn't cooperate. It always happened whenever recollection of that event invaded his mind.

"How's the shoulder?" she asked.

If the girl was to disparage him for what he'd done, he would be more than willing to take the beating. But this situation was the complete opposite. He hadn't anticipated it at all and fumbling for any answers.

"I got a surgery for that one. So, it's fine," he replied at last.

"Why didn't you get surgery for the one on your face, too?" she asked again, genuinely curious.

"They couldn't…" he trailed off, realizing that he just said whatever came to his mind without thinking—which happened to be the fact. He pursed his lips before he said something he would regret—admitting that he was a wreck after that incident, for example.

Rio apparently sensed his discomfort and decided to change the subject. "Did it hurt?"

"I don't remember at all. I might have been unconscious when that pillar fell on us," he lied. He could still remember vividly how those steel wires tore apart his flesh, how the blood oozing from the open wound, and how harsh the recovery he had to go through—and even that wasn't complete. He was still gathering pieces of his sanity but he wasn't sure he could put everything back together.

"You sure hold really tight for someone's unconscious," Rio insinuated but didn't pursue the matter. "I guess, since you participated in Duel Circuit and WDC, your injuries are all healed?"

"They weren't all that bad to begin with."  _The nightmares were worse._

"I see." She pulled her hand back and put them on her lap again.

There was silence. Rio started to feel like she was interrogating him—as she was the only one asking the question—and felt rather uncomfortable. She wished he would say something—anything—as the silence becoming too unbearable, even for her.

IV rested his elbows on his thighs and interlaced his hands. The girl had swallowed her pride and even  _apologized_  to him, while he was the one supposed to be apologizing. She was right, he thought, he was a coward.

It wasn't that he didn't want to say it, but considering the questions that would accompany such confession making him avoid the whole thing altogether. Ryouga was another thing, since the guy wasn't likely to hear him anyway and he could pretend that the bad blood between them had been washed away by playing vitriolic best bud. But Rio was definitely smarter—if not more cunning—than her brother that he couldn't pull such stunt with her. The moment she spoke with him, he knew that she wouldn't accept halfhearted explanation and would bare him to his rawest nerves end.

After much contemplation, he decided that it was easier to not go against his feeling before her as the more he tried to contradict himself, the more the backlash would hit him. Besides, it was as good timing as any to rethink his life decision; a little discomfort now was better than piling it up. He breathed slowly before saying, "I did say that I was sorry to Ryouga, but, since I'm here now, I'll say it again. I'm sorry to everything I've done, to you and your brother."

Rio's face brightened. "Well, consider we're even now. I've said some horrible things the last time we met, after all."

"No, I deserved that."

The blunette pouted her lips. "That's not what I'm talking about! It was really unbecoming for a girl to speak such foul words like that, you know! I'm ashamed to myself."

IV chuckled. "If that's what you call foul, you should've seen me and Ryouga dueled. I believe there're trash cans cleaner than that one encounter."

"You both are boys. You're entitled to some puberty-driven boorish manner within reason."

"See, you even managed to rephrase it."

"You did say I'm a charmer, right?" Rio stuck her tongue out a little and all of the sudden, the awkwardness between them dissipated and the two laughed softly.

After the laughter died down, Rio, feeling like the mood had lightened a bit, dared herself to ask, "Can I ask you something?"

IV's lips tightened, knowing that the moment would come, sooner or later. He knew exactly what was the girl going to ask, but it didn't make things any easier.

"Why did you do that?"

_Bull's eye._

"Didn't Ryouga tell you?"

"He said something about revenge… but he didn't know the detail himself." Rio could feel the tension between them thickened again and immediately regretted her decision for asking that. "Ah, if you don't want to answer, it's okay, though."

"As someone who was involved, I guess you have right to know," IV said firmly. "Everything I did was part of my father's plan to get our revenge for Dr. Faker."

Rio said nothing and let him continue. "My brothers and I each did our part, and my role was to grow hatred in Ryouga's heart, so that he would have enough motivation to kill Dr. Faker. Honestly…" he paused, choosing his words carefully.

"Father never told me about how our plan works and he only expected me to do my part. Honestly, there were times when I questioned about it myself. I'm not trying to shift the blame to anyone. I could've refused or even fought back, but I chose to do it anyway. It's just that…"

"I was really furious when father told me that I was the flaw in our plan all along, that I wasn't needed anymore, that Ryouga was the right instrument to kill Dr. Faker. I didn't care what people said, but I only wanted my old father back. If the answer was to murder someone, I'd do that without question. But, when it turned out that he expected nothing from me, that I was as disposable as any other, it's just…" his interlaced hands clenched even tighter.

"He actually said that?" asked Rio, utterly surprised.

IV shook his head, trying to maintain his composure. He didn't want to spill everything in front of someone he barely knew but it all tumbled out of his lips just like that. It felt almost relieving to bare everything, but he still couldn't trust himself, so he held back the continuation and, instead, said, "I'm sorry, I think I've said too much…"

"No, don't be. Please continue. I want to hear all of it."

The red haired young man shook his head again. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'm ready to talk about it, after all. Just know that I am sorry for what we did. I really am."

Rio looked visibly disappointed, but true to her words, she wouldn't force him if he didn't want to. The tactics usually worked like wonder, but for someone to be that reluctant must meant that the memories was far too unpleasant, and she knew when to back down. "Well, know that I'm grateful that you protected me. My injuries were mostly third-degree burns, so it didn't hurt that much as it dulled my nerves, and I was barely conscious when it all happened. Your injuries must be a lot more painful," she responded solemnly, then added, "And don't even try that 'it's not that bad' again. I know what I saw."

IV was dumbstruck at first, clearly didn't expect such reaction that it took him a moment for everything to sink in. She surely had caught him off guard multiple times already in a span of less than thirty minutes. He smiled weakly and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Now, let's talk about something else. What's your plan from now on?" she asked another question, moods inflating again.

"Um, about that… I presumed that you knew the gist of what happened in general?" he confirmed, just to be safe. At her nod, he continued, "Well, we—me, my brothers, and father—decided to go out of Heartland to continue our research. It was my brothers' idea, actually, saying that we should spend some quality time after all that…"

"That must be nice. Pity, though…"

"Ryouga would be thrilled."

"He'd be lonely, take my word. You two are just starting to become friends, after all." Rio could hear IV's stifled snort that she said, "You probably think he'd hate you after all that happened. But I know my twin better than anyone else. You two would be great friends."

IV looked at the blunette as if she had turned into a pumpkin. "You're weird."

"Don't let Ryouga hear you say that. He's been unreasonably sensitive lately."

"I'll watch my back," he said and stood up. "I guess I have to go now. My brother would never let me have some semblance of peace if I'm running late for our departure."

"Oh, before that, IV," Rio called. "Do you have a name? I'm sure IV's just your stage name, right? I mean, who'd name their child with numbers?"

The girl never ceased to amaze him with her spontaneous actions. It didn't take long for him to give answer this time, however. He offered his hand and said, "Thomas. That's my real name. Nice to meet you, Kamishiro Rio."

"Nice to meet you too, Thomas." Rio shook his hand a few times, and when she let go, she waved at him, "Have a safe trip."

"You too, get well soon." IV—Thomas smiled ever so slightly and made his way to the door. He was still smiling when turned to the hall heading for the nearest staircase.

"What're you smiling at, creep?"

Upon hearing Ryouga's voice, IV's lighthearted smile faded and turned into a sneer at the sight of the purple haired teen leaning on the wall just a few steps before him, arms crossed and brows furrowed in sharp angle. "My business here is over. You won't see me for a while, probably," he said, passing him by.

"What do you mean?"

"I did say I'm going out of town with my family, didn't I?"

Ryouga raised his eyebrows and said, "That's good to hear. This city certainly needs some relief from your madness."

"Don't miss me."

"In your nightmare."

IV let it slip by and kept walking while waving his hand nonchalantly. He felt a thousand times lighter now that some of the weight had been lifted off his shoulder. It didn't erase his guilty conscience completely, and never would, but knowing that he was forgiven did wonder to his mental state. With a little more effort, he could probably be able to put the pieces back together, and he had her to thank for.

He'd definitely proof that her forgiveness meant a lot to him. If not now, then some times in the future.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 4,800_

_The longest one so far! I love writing IV-Rio’s interaction so much, oh my God! My hands are itching to write moooore! Reviews and kudos are always welcome!_


	8. Puzzles (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(happened at the beginning of Zexal II, before Arclight brothers' reappearance. Based on one part of drabbles **[3 1 AccidentShipping Snapshots](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10313140/1/31-AccidentShipping-Snapshots)**_ _by[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _, specifically the prompt titled ' **[Zombie](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10313140/20/31-AccidentShipping-Snapshots)**_ _'. I love it so much that I even want to write something a lot more elaborate about it, maybe an AU past-life fanfic of some sort? I don't know, but I had to write this one first! I'll think about the other stuff later. Any situation you recognize probably didn't come directly from me :p)_
> 
>  **_Author's Note_ ** _: Please keep in mind that this_ _isn't completely AU_ _,_ _only partly_ _. I tried to keep this fic in line with the original storyline. I only inserted some juicy details that involved drama, accidentshipping, and Thomas in the otherwise duel-filled anime. :p_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

It was another fire, but it was different than last time.

For one, he wasn't surrounded by ruined  _concrete_  building, just ruined building, probably made of stone and wood, from the looks of it. The horizon was bursting with the same burning colors as the flame; red, orange, yellow, with a hint of mauve, giving the illusion that the fire was just mirage caused by the sunset. But the fire was real, as well as the wreckage that had been once a rather prosperous village. He knew that for a fact, because he was lying on his stomach under one of the charred wooden beam, one arm stretched out, his whole body was numb.

How had he ended up there? Well, it was just a dream, wasn't it? It was probably triggered by the scenery he had seen that afternoon, when they had been out exploring a village's ruins. It wasn't exactly a hot day, but looking for some minute details among rubbles under the blazing sun wasn't what he'd call 'having fun'—as III had put it. Boy, was he bored out of his mind looking at broken stones in various sizes and shapes that made no sense to him. III claimed that he'd seen some intricate pattern that could possibly be a carved ritual stone of some sort, but all he saw was scratched piece of rock the size of his palm, nothing more.

IV practically dashed straight back to their submarine when V called him up to help with some programming—at least he could do that while sitting down under the shade of their rather comfortable temporary headquarters. He busied himself with the numbers and series of command words on the screen so that he wouldn't have to accompany his brother again until sundown.

It must have been the heat exposure. He hadn't intended to stay long outside, so he hadn't brought hat or any other kind of sun-protection like III had. Now, he was having this bizarre dream. Why did he have to be crushed with toppled structure? Just because it was a dream, didn't mean he like being sandwiched with woods and earth. It felt real while it last (he presumed another effect of staying outside for too long), too real to his liking that he wished he would wake up soon.

The red haired young man tried to move some muscle. Nothing happened. He tried looking around, but he could only see remnants of destroyed building covered in fire; he certainly had penchant for it in particular. The addition of different details was new to him but this was still nightmare, and he preferred to be awake as soon as possible. He usually got awakened when something was about to hit him, but in his current condition, he doubted anything would fall over him as he was already partly buried by most of the debris.

Suddenly, there was bright light coming from somewhere far (he couldn't move his head to get better look, but he could tell that it was no ordinary light). It was soft blue and pale, sparkling like clear water in the twilight sky and it reminded him of someone.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed inaudibly.

 _Sorry for what?_  He thought, confused. Why was he saying something he never intended to? It wasn't as if he was reliving memories of that day again, right? Even if it was, where was the girl? This was all too strange to comprehend.

His outstretched hand twitched several times, but he still couldn't make it move. His breathing rasped—if he could call it breathing at all—as pain overtook his supposedly numb body. It was beyond painful; it was excruciating, like he was being skinned alive. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out of his parted lips. His hand kept twitching as the pain becoming more unbearable. Could it be that…

IV jerked awake, body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. He sat up and could feel his muscles were still stiff from the abrupt movement. He lifted his hand, fingers twitching slightly, and sighed in relief upon seeing it was still intact. He knew it was just a dream, but he could still feel the stinging sensation on his skin.

Was he dying in that dream? Was that how dying felt like? It was worse than the usual nightmare. He didn't want any more of it.

"Niisama?" III called from the other side of the room, shuffling a little in his bed (they shared a room in the submarine, while V had the other room). The older boy didn't answer, still too shocked. III sat up, flicking the switch of his bedside lamp. "Were you having nightmare again?"

It was no secret between the three brothers that IV still endured the nightmare of certain incident. They usually steered clear from the topic unless IV started acting weird, though the definition of weird might vary from III to V. III, for example, got easily worried when his brother showed even a slightest hint of distress, even though IV jolted awake from a bad dream was almost a daily occurrence.

"I'm fine," IV replied automatically. "Go back to sleep."

The youngest Arclight boy had heard the answer one too many times that he almost expected it every time he asked how his brother were doing. But it never eased his concern until he made sure that his brother was truly fine. This time, however, his anxiety was inflated when his brother swung out of bed and began making his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" III asked.

Again, IV didn't answer and kept walking, apparently too engrossed in his thought that he zoned out everything else.

"Niisama, wait!" III called again, worry lacing voice. He decided to climb out of the bed and followed his brother.

IV trudged uncertainly along the narrow hallway. When he reached the kitchen that also functioned as dining room, he stared at the dimly lit space for a moment before seating himself at the kitchen table, hands folded on the surface. III joined him a few seconds later, looking obviously anxious.

"Can I get you something, niisama? A glass of water, maybe?" III offered, trying to loosen the mood.

"I told you, I'm fine," IV said, head hung low.

There was silence. Feeling rather awkward, III decided to grab something to drink from the refrigerator. At least he would have something to occupy himself while keeping watch of his brother. He poured some ice water into a glass and sat at the opposite side of the table. He noticed that his brother had turned his attention to the circular window on the nearest wall.

They stayed underwater most of the time, so there wasn't much to be seen but vast expanse of water and its organisms. At this time of the night, though, there was nothing to be seen but endless darkness, but IV was peering at it like he actually saw something. III was just about to ask when his brother preceded him.

"The village, what was it called?"

"Huh?" III blinked several times, unsure if he heard the question right.

"The village we visited yesterday. What was its name?" IV repeated, eyes fixed on the window.

It wasn't that he didn't hear his brother, but the question was so out of nowhere that it took the fifteen year old a moment to fully comprehend it. After a few moments, he answered, "It was part of United Land of Poseidon Ocean, from what I was able to find."

"Hm…" this time, IV propped his face with his hand, looking deep in thought. "What does it has to do with the Barians again?"

They had discussed about the Barian several times, but IV had always seemed uninterested. He did his job just fine, but he wouldn't be bothered by something that didn't interest him was so typical of IV that it wasn't that surprising if his brother didn't know the detail of their expedition. The real question was when he suddenly took interest at something he couldn't be care less about in an ungodly hour like this.

"We believe that Barian World's residents were once people of this land. They were sent there after some sort of civil war that claimed many of its people," III answered, though curious.

IV turned to face his brother, eyebrows knitted. "Civil war?" he asked carefully.

"There were records of several conflicts with the neighboring country trying to take over the land. They were supposed to form a peace treaty, but apparently, there were disputes among the ranks whether they should trust the opposing country and all that. One argument led to some others and in the end, they declared war to each other until both of them were decimated before eventually transported into Barian World."

" _All of them_  were transported into Barian World?"

"Not all of them, most people from United Land Poseidon Ocean, I think. The opposing army was sacrificed to summon this Ocean God by their leader, from what I could decipher."

"Charming leader they have, really," IV commented. "And their next agenda after being destroyed was to destroy another world like, say, Astral world?"

"I believe it was Astral people's desire to eradicate Chaos, so, technically, they were the ones declaring war first."

"And we, as the habitant of the center planet of the universe, have to get involved with all that shit just because we happen to be the easiest to manipulate, huh?" said IV, voice dripping with sarcasm. At III's frown, he added, "I mean, we're all being used by them; our father, Faker, and we still haven't figured out what is Astral's motive to follow Yuuma around."

"Well, you could put it that way." III added hesitantly, "But I don't think Astral meant any harm to any of us."

" _Define_  'harm'. What is harmless to them doesn't necessarily mean it's also harmless to us. You're just saying that because Astral is Yuuma's friend. For all we know, Astral might be some sort of spy to monitor Barian's activity on earth; which manifested in our father and Faker."

"We're not using Barian's power anymore. And Astral's not following us now," III defended fervently.

"That doesn't mean he's not a spy. The Barians probably has something else up their sleeves after  _our_  failure. And you're the one saying that Astral's people wanted to destroy Barians first."

"Why do you keep insinuating that Astral might be up to something bad? We still don't know for sure," III argued defensively, starting to get annoyed.

"Why do  _you_  keep insisting that he's not?" IV retorted. "I'm just laying out the facts and that's the easiest conclusion we could get. Astral and Barians might not be interested in our beloved earth, but that doesn't mean we would be left out once the war between the worlds started. We're already in it, whether we like it or not."

III huffed, knowing that his brother had a point. But he refused to back down, especially when it came to his friends. "So, what're you suggesting?"

"Ask Astral directly, or even, make him answer to all of our questions. Saves us a lot of trouble."

"Why, don't you like being here and explore a lot of wonderful things?" III asked innocently. IV scoffed and he continued, "I mean, if asking Astral would provide all the information we need, father or V-niisama must have thought about it before our departure. As it stands, Astral lost most of his memories and couldn't even remember his mission, even after collecting half of the 100 Numbers. For all we know, he might be trying to prevent the war, or even the destruction of the world. We're here looking for additional proof about the Barians, not of Astrals. We knew for one that they manipulated father—us. We let Astral have his space and completing his memories, and then we'll get the information we needed about Astral, while we need to know how the Barians works, right?"

Now it was IV's turn to huff. He had already known, at least partly, about that and never intended to debate his brother, but somehow, it spiraled into that as he had this tendency to go against the current just to spite everyone else. Sometimes, he did it just because he could, but there were times he did it because he couldn't quite convey what he wanted to say without making it unnecessarily complicated—so much for saving the troubles. After a moment, he finally admitted, "You're right, I don't like it here."

"Why?" III asked, genuinely confused.

The red-and-blond haired young man folded his arm on the kitchen table and rested his head in it, eyes looking distant. "It brings back unpleasant memories."

"Memories of what? We've never been here before."

There was a pause. IV didn't even realize he had said that until III asked him back. He never meant to say 'memories', but it all came out just like that. Before he could answer, however, another voice interrupted.

"III, IV, what are you guys doing at this time?"

Both brothers turned to find their eldest brother standing in the hallway, looking sleepily at them. His long silver hair was braided to one side, sleek and crisp like his pajama shirt, as if he barely moved in his sleep.

"I'm sorry. Did we wake you up, niisama?" III asked back.

V shook his head and approached his brothers. He took seat besides IV and ruffled his brother's red hair. "Did you have a nightmare again?"

IV swatted the older man's hand and turned his head to another direction, refusing to answer his question. "Yes, he did. And we ended up talking about some interesting stuffs," III answered in his stead.

"Oh, count me in, then."

"I'm going back to bed," IV interjected and stood up, grumpily left the kitchen area and back to his room. He could hear III started to tell their brother about their talk just then. He cursed III for being a little too talkative and nosy. He had never told anyone in detail about his dream, even though V, III, and even their father had offered to talk if something bothered him (sometimes, they were the ones doing the talk, and he usually ignored them), he still felt too insecure talking to someone else about his problem, even to his family. He might blurted out unintentionally several times (like he did just then), but he wouldn't be caught dead spilling his heart's content to  _anyone_.

As he climbed back to bed, he thought back about what he had said regarding his dream. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to call it memories as he believed it was partly influenced by recollection of certain incident that involved fire. Or, was it?

III returned to his bed not long after and immediately fell back asleep, but he stayed awake until sunrise, mulling over their conversation. They had been there for a little more than a week, and that dream just occurred after he visited the village. He had been telling himself that it was merely the heat or discomfort at doing things he didn't actually like, but he couldn't sway the strange feeling on the back of his mind that it wasn't just any dream.

When morning came, IV was in a bad mood; partly because of the sleep deprivation, and also because he couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. He changed out of his pajamas and ruffling his hair a little, then headed to the kitchen. V, this time looking fresh and ready for the day, greeted him, smiling grimly when he saw his little brother's weary face.

"Couldn't sleep well?" he asked, putting a few slices of bread into the toaster.

"You heard III last night," IV replied peevishly.

"You could've said something yourself," the silver haired man pointed out. "You know you're making it harder by keeping everything wrapped up."

"Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Why don't you tell me something about your dream last night? What's the deal with this 'memories' stuff?" V prompted, ignoring IV's obvious grouchy attitude.

"You know which memories I dreamed about every other night!" IV shot back, feeling irritated that everyone was trying to poke their nose into his space.

"Oh, does it have something to do with this place?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It was a blunder," IV dismissed sharply, didn't want to be pushed any further.

V decided to back down—again. He did feel obliged to take care of his brother, but he also acknowledged IV as his own man and fully capable of making decision for himself. He busied himself with the coffee for a while, poured for both of them and handed a cup to his brother. "III said you took some interest to our project," he started, changing the subject.

"III had nothing better to do than sticking his nose into people's business," IV parroted his brother before sipping his black coffee.

"Don't be like that. He's just worried about you. Besides, he contributed the most for this project, you know," V said, popping the toasts out of the toaster and put them on a plate. "Last night, he deciphered some more ancient texts we found and documented our findings on the ruins."

"You mean those pebbles?" IV snorted, reaching out for a toast.

"Some of them turned out to be made of metals caked with century old dirt," V corrected, seating himself in the kitchen table. "Aren't you curious?"

"No, I only brought that up last night because I wanted to say that 'we don't have to be here longer than we need be. This place's starting to give me creeps'."

"I know you have something against ruined building, but is that really what bothered you?"

"And if I say, 'yes'?"

The silver haired man shrugged and said, "Well, we could make some arrangement regarding our works. You can stay inside all day if you want, making sure the system is always in check and notify us if there're anomalies approaching."

"Sounds fun."

"See, we could've talked about it nicely. No need for huff and puff."

The middle Arclight boy rolled his eyes. "Contradiction's my middle name."

"I thought it was 'fanservice' or something along that line?"

"That's catchphrase, learn some difference."

"Fine, whatever you say. Just remember that if you need someone to talk to, we're always here."

"Good morning, niisama," III greeted, joining them in the kitchen table.

"Morning," V responded, didn't bother to pour another cup of coffee as III preferred fruit juice over caffeine in the morning. "IV won't be accompanying your expedition today, and maybe the following days too. Is that okay with you?"

"I can manage," III replied, pouring some orange juice into a glass. "But I'm going to need help with the documentation."

"I'll help, as long as I don't have to be outside," IV offered with mouth full of peanut butter and jelly toast.

"You need to sort through a pile of  _pebbles_ , niisama. Are you sure you won't get bored?" remarked III slyly, clearly had been listening to his brothers' conversations before he joined them.

"You want me to help or not?"

"No, I'm fine doing it myself. I'm  _your brother_ , after all."

Even with his morning doses of caffeine, it still took IV a moment before he realized what his little brother was doing. By the time he started shouting, III had already made himself scarce from the kitchen, swiping some toasts before his disappearance. V simply laughed at his brothers' bickering, feeling partly relieved that IV was back to his usual grumpy self, even with the nightmares still haunting him. It took time, but they were surely recovering—although in each of their own way. The fact that they still used their code names was enough indication that they were still too caught up with what they had gone through in WDC. There might be some things that they refused to talk to each other about said incident, but at least their interaction weren't strained anymore. He just hoped that whatever they found in the ruins wouldn't shatter their peace either.

* * *

 

 _Word_ _**count** _ _: 3,373_

_Reviews and Kudos are always welcome! :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ugh… I honestly don't know what I was doing; it started out serious and then I accidentally stepped on the brake and U-turned it into a little family fluff. I'm horrible, I know. I don't even know how to end this one properly since I was really eager to write the next one; another chapter inspired from 'Zombie', but from Rio/Merag's POV (it's finished, but officially moved back a few chapters and I'm now currently writing for the next one). This could escalate into a full-scale past life semi-AU fic, my hands itched soooo bad! Maybe I don't need to write another separate fic, I'll just put everything in here and just go with the flow. Maybe…_


	9. Puzzles (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in Zexal II, before Arclight brother's reappearance, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
> **_Author's Note_ ** _: at this point, I'm starting to do these oneshots in random. I mean, I started writing this when I was halfway through the ninth one (which is now moved back a few chapters), and then decided that this was better off put after the eighth one. So, yeah, I keep changing my mind every so often. I'm still going to post everything in chronological order, hopefully though… who knows what'll pop out while I'm busy writing this note?_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal—oh, for the love of RA, I'm sure y'all knew the brief already! I'm sick of punching the ctrl+c and ctrl+v buttons, so I'm hitting this random (supposedly) disclaimer words instead._

* * *

IV hadn't realize that they—he and Rio—had the almost similar shade of eyes until he looked at them up close. Actually, she was the one looking down, her body crouched a little above him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her white hood hanging down from her head, blocking the sunlight behind.

 _Uh, not really?_  Was what he had wanted to say, but his lips instead formed a "What?" with hoarse voice, as if he hadn't had drinks for quite some times.

The blue haired girl crouched even lower, extending a hand to touch his right shoulder. "It seems like you're injured. Who are you?"

His lips moved again, and he couldn't hear his own voice as the darkness slowly swallowed his consciousness. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his room in the submarine.

 _That was quick_ , he thought, blinking several times to make sure he was really awake. It had been awhile since the last time he had nightmares, and although he wasn't complaining, he was definitely confused with the sudden rhythm change. Ever since his day out to the ruins, his nightmares were now replaced by a series of strange dream filled with familiar faces that seemed to be connected to each other in scattered, incoherent pieces—like an unsolved puzzles of some sort.

The first time he had that dream had been about him dying—crushed by a knocked down building. The second time he had found himself lying limp on a shore, his right side throbbing with pain, but then he started crawling half-consciously until he reached the nearest grove of trees. Somehow, he managed to stand up and walked sluggishly along the thicket, using the trunk of trees to prop him. He kept walking, aiming for God-knew-what, before his legs gave way and collapsed to the ground—which happened to be too close to a river, making half of his body drowned in the shallow water.

That was one of the uneventful and bearable ones and it was usually short and he woke up just fine after that; no jolt, no sweat, no nothing. The eventful ones were even worse than his usual nightmare as it usually involved dark, dismal places, and the problem was that everything inside those dreams felt too real to his liking, even the pain. He could still feel the lingering sensation a few hours after he woke up, just like the aftereffect of Augmented Reality duels.

There was this one particular dream—one of his least favorites—where he was chained inside a cave, his back was whipped relentlessly until he lost consciousness. Much to his horror, he was really stubborn in that dream, refusing to drift off even after hundreds of lashing, so it lasted longer than he would have preferred. He was pretty shaken up after the dream that he spent the whole morning being jumpy every time his back made contact with something.

They had been there for three weeks now, and he still hadn't figured out what was the connection between the ruins and his dream. Why was he the only one enduring it? What about his brothers? They seemed perfectly fine to him so he presumed they didn't have one of those dreams, even though he did spot them in some of his dreams; inside the caves, barely talked to each other and had to work like slaves, digging and digging until their hand calloused. They had been called with the same code-names they were using now, and it certainly was creepy.

"You've been reading III's files again?" V confronted him when he popped into the kitchen, ostensibly vexed judging from the angle of his knitted eyebrows.

IV yawned and took seat at the kitchen table, grabbing his cup of coffee. "I did. So, what?"

The silver haired man exhaled indignantly. "I'm not going to ask why, you won't answer it anyway. But please return whatever you take from other people's space. III nearly broke down crying last night because he couldn't find one of his files, which was later found in the control room, slightly crinkled and piled up with other books. And the person who was supposedly responsible was happily burying himself under the cover."

"You found it anyway,  _no need for huff and puff_ ," he parroted his brother in the last sentence.

"You don't like it when III's  _pestering_  you with his concerns, do him a favor and respect his space. He worked hard filing all those documents."

"He said I could borrow them whenever I want!" he stated defensively, referring to one evening, when he had been bored and decided to read III's files about the ruins, as well as looking for any information about his dream. He did find some red strings between his dreams and the ruins; like how he was certain that he had seen some of the places mentioned in the files; the village, the water shrine, even the shore (there were some photos provided). But that still hadn't explained why he was having them, so he proceeded to read some others too, including books about dreams. III was visibly brightened when he witnessed the scene, knowing that his brother took interest at something he did, and encouraged him to read more of his files with addition of some other related books.

"I believe he said to return them, too, once you're finished," V retorted back.

"I was busy, alright?" IV retaliated weakly, knowing he had lost the argument, but refused to back down easily.

"How hard is it to say 'sorry'?" V raised his voice, starting to get irritated.

"Stop fighting, niisama!" III intervened, suddenly appeared between the two brothers.

V's face softened at the sight of his youngest brother, who apparently just woke up as he was still wearing his pajama, his curly hair sticking out everywhere. He stammered, "Ah, I didn't mean to raise my voice…"

"I appreciate you defending me, niisama, but we've found the document, so there's no need to fuss over it," III stated firmly, walking past his two brothers towards the refrigerator. The silver haired man glared at IV's smug smirk, but said nothing about it.

"What, we've run out of orange juice now?" III grumbled when he opened the fridge and found no sign of his favorite morning refreshment.

"I believe we still have some in the pantry," V muttered and turned to go to the store room, which was located at the end of the corridor.

While V was temporarily gone, III grumpily took seat in the kitchen table, burying his head in his folded arms. That was certainly new from his usually bubbly little brother that IV raised his eyebrows at the spectacle.

"Are you angry at me?" IV asked, looking confused.

"Not really," III replied in muffled voice.

"Well, everyone seems to be on edge lately. Not that I should be the one saying it, though," said IV, sipping his coffee.

"I couldn't sleep well last night," III said again, and IV rolled his eyes at the impending speak-your-problem session. He prepared to ignore them, but then his brother said, "I think I had nightmares."

The middle Arclight boy's stomach dropped as he glanced slightly at the pink haired boy, whose head still resting lazily on his arms, but now his face turned to his brother. "Is that how it feels like, niisama? Like you don't want to go back to sleep and just stay awake to make sure everything is in place?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The red-and-blond haired young man refused to admit. He didn't even want to hear whatever his brother wanted to say, fearing that it'd live up to his suspicion about  _his_  dreams.

IV had seen his brother crying before, but he had never seen him looked miserable like the one he had witnessed in his dream. The pink haired boy wasn't crying, but his face said differently, as well as his movement. The boy's hands were shaking and he moved languidly, like he didn't have enough energy but forced himself to do it anyway. He (not actually him, but the 'he' in the dream) had asked the boy if he was feeling okay, and he only smiled dimly and kept going. When the boy actually fell exhausted on the dirt floor, for the first time in the series of those strange dreams, he felt like he was actually moving and said things out of his own brain. And then, he was awake with his little brother's face looking worriedly at him. He had pinched III's cheeks after that, to make sure that his brother—this particular one—was the real one.

What if his brother were also having the same dreams? Did that mean their dreams were connected—like distant forgotten memories of some sort? No, he couldn't just jump into conclusion like that. He still had V to convince him that it was just the effect of reading too many boring texts about ancient civilization and spending too much times before the screen, tapping countless command words and strings of numbers, III spent too much times outside collecting pebbles, and V was cooped up all day in the lab—sometimes with their father too—tampering with portal device he was trying to build. So, all in all, they were dead tired and not in the right mind most of the time. Right?

"I dreamed about how I was chased down by a hoard of velociraptors inside this submarine, and they were tearing down all my files and destroyed the computers, and then the submarine exploded… we were saved because we teleported outside before the explosion… but the files weren't…"

"Wait, what?" IV was nonplussed, to say the least. He was busy storming his brain coming up for any excuse to deny the possibility that his brother's nightmare might have something to do with his strange dreams. But then, what was with the most ridiculous story he had ever heard in his life just now?

"I woke up sweating and immediately checked the archive room only to find out that one of my files was really missing. I was absolutely terrified then and couldn't really bring myself to go back to sleep, even after we found the file…" III trailed off, lips pouted.

IV was at loss of words, mouth hanging open, feeling like he had wasted his breath. "That's what you call 'nightmare'?"

"Well, I know this is nothing like yours, but it still scared me out," III said timidly.

"Speaking of nightmares…" V joined in the conversation, putting a carton of orange juice on the counter. "I've been having strange dreams too lately."

Now, that one was phrased rather nicely—or should he say, badly—as he tensed up all over again at his brother's words. It was bad enough they had managed to drag him into 'the talk'; they also had to bring up the most sensitive topic and trolled him altogether. He tried not to get his adrenaline too worked up at this one, but he couldn't help himself.

"I had a dream where we're being attacked by cicadas, mosquitos, and electric jellyfish…" V said, rubbing his temple with his index and middle fingers. "Bugs can fly, that's physically possible. But the jellyfishes were  _floating_  all over the submarine and messing around with the computers. That must be the most bizarre dream I ever had."

"Told you this place's weird." IV rolled his eyes again and drained his coffee, partly relieved that his suspicion was dismissed for the time being.

"Yeah, the good news is, we're going back to Heartland soon!" V announced. "III has compiled enough data, and the portal is coming along nicely. If the weather favors us, we'll start heading there tomorrow morning."

"I can't wait to see Yuuma and the others!" III suddenly brightened up, straightening his back.

V smiled and said, "I wonder how Kaito and his family are doing. I hope they're getting along fine."

"Am I the only one here not that excited about Heartland? Can't we just go back home to our manor?" IV grumbled to himself.

"I need to discuss my findings with Dr. Faker and Kaito, and I'm going to need your help too with some other stuff," V explained. "Besides, there'll possibly be an interdimensional war coming. I don't think you'd want to miss it."

"Are you kidding me? I'd trade my arm and leg if it meant I can plop down on my bed again and sleep through the so-called clash of the extraterrestrial."

"You sound like a tired old man."

"Anything to get me away from the hassle."

"Don't you want to meet Kamishiro Ryouga again?" III cut into the banter after being busied with the newly opened orange juice.

"Only in my nightmare," responded IV sourly.

"Careful what you wish for, IV. I don't know what kind of nightmare you see every day, but Kamishiro Ryouga beating you to pulp in your nightmare sounds very legit to me," V said.

"Don't we have this unspoken agreement that neither of you won't bring up the 'n' word unless I started it?" IV scowled, starting to feel irritated that the topic went out of hand.

V shrugged. "You seemed fine when III talked about his nightmare. So, I thought I'd give it a try."

"I'm not the one initiating it," the red-haired young man murmured, glanced sharply at his little brother, who looked like he was about to burst out laughing. "I can't believe we're having this conversation…"

"Get used to it. We're going to have more in the future."

"Yay, another thing to look forward to." IV deadpanned.

"Meanwhile, since it's our last day here, why don't we spend it outside? We can go swim or even sunbathe!" III suggested, back to his bubbly persona again.

"Sounds good to me. We haven't been on holiday since forever." V agreed.

"I'll pass."

The two Arclight brothers stopped short on the middle boy's word, apparently realizing something they shouldn't have said.

"Oh, well, if you don't want to, we always need someone to look after the ship while we're out…" V fumbled.

"Yes, we'll be fine with father. Three is a good numbers, after all. And that's my name, too!" III added, nodding a bit too vigorously to appear normal.

IV raised his eyebrows at his brothers, clearly wasn't impressed at their attempts to cover their embarrassment. "Do you guys have to do that?"

III and V glanced at each other, and then back to IV, who still looked at them with annoyance plastered on his face, and shrugged simultaneously. It should have been a comical situation if he wasn't feeling irritated by their stupid assumptions. All he said was that he didn't want to play outside, and then they had to assume things as to why he wouldn't. He could list a few reasons; the most prominent one was that he just didn't feel like making a fool out of himself playing with saltwater and sand—although doing it just to spite his brothers came to a close second—but from the way his brothers behaved, he was pretty sure they had thought he didn't want to expose his scarred back for the world to see or something equally stupid like that. He still weighed the option of correcting or just let them assume whatever they liked when III interrupted his train of thought.

"Could you may be go out for a few minutes? Just a few minutes, promise. I really want to take picture of us together as a family doing something fun…" the youngest brother fidgeted, looking slightly bashful.

As much as IV wanted to decline, he was still quite taken by their previous conversation that he couldn't stomach the idea of his little brother's disappointed face again. "Fine, a few minutes. Then I'll scram."

Seeing III's face lit up like he was receiving presents at Christmas was enough to bring small, lopsided smile on IV's face. That was more like the brother he knew. The pink haired boy scampered away from the kitchen, while V said something about getting changed and telling their father, and then he, too, was gone, leaving IV alone in the kitchen, putting away the cups to the sink.

Since III mentioned about photo, he deliberated himself on changing his usual robes into a plain white shirt and a short. He wasn't going to stay long, but the photo at least had to look natural. He headed outside first to look around. V was right, they hadn't been on holiday since that fateful day of their father's disappearance, and he had almost forgotten how refreshing the salty breeze could be, even on a rather hot day.

The other Arclight brothers and their father joined him not long after; all of them had changed into their boxer—even Tron, who also had removed his mask for the occasion, III bringing out all the swimming gears ranging from floating board to surfboard, V was carrying a huge folded umbrella with a couple of clean towels, while Tron brought an old-fashioned film-camera. Now, he felt inclined to stay a bit longer to pull pranks on them and capture their priceless expression on camera.

As promised, as soon as they had set the equipment down, they took the picture. It was a simple one; all four of them huddled close and posing for the timed camera. After that, they were on their own. III immediately jumped into the water, while V was busy applying sunscreen under the shade, and Tron was lying on the spread out towel, hands folded behind his head. IV, who still hadn't decided whether he should go back into the ship or proceeded with his plan, was standing awkwardly near Tron. He rather liked the idea of teasing his brothers, but truth be told, he still felt rather awkward around his father ever since that incident. True, Tron was back to the father figure like he had been once, but the childlike form and the disfigured face was irreversible, and he was still unsure as to how to behave around such contradiction—which was ironic, considering he had penchant for it. Tron was rarely seen around the submarine, mostly spent his time in his room or V's lab, which didn't help matter this time.

"Aren't you going to play, Thomas?"

The red haired young man jumped a little at the voice, cursing inside his head that he didn't run away while he had the chance. "I'm going back to the ship, father."

"You were always pranking the others on occasion like this. I guess, you've grown up now, huh?" Tron said, glancing slightly at his second son.

IV didn't feel the need to respond and was about to turn around when something caught his attention. The sky was clear, with occasional fluffy clouds drifting off, and such, he could see everything as far as his sight could reach. It was a shipwreck—or, more like a boat, from the looks of it. He didn't know why but he felt drawn to it and before he realized it, he already made his way to the pile of broken woods.

Once he was there, he crouched down and touched the moss-caked woodpiles. It was a small boat, could only hold three people at most. The reason he knew it was a boat was because it still looked like a boat—half of it, at least. It piled up haphazardly by the rock formation and he could imagine the boat crashed into the rock and met its end. Absently, he traced the edge of the remaining boat-shaped wreck trying to picture what had happened to the boat and its passenger.

It had been a stormy night, and they had no choice but to huddle close together in the small boat, holding hands, trying to stay away from the edge, or not to fall from the unsteady swing. The sea was unforgiving, as well as the rain and thunder, making him felt like he was surrounded by sea of despair. They wouldn't be able to make it, he thought grimly. After all they had gone through to escape from the site—even at the cost of Number 5's life—they would only end up as shark's food (not that he had ever seen a man being eaten by sharks, but he had heard stories of it). It would be better if they had died before that happened, though, he didn't want to think what would happen if they were still alive when the predators started preying upon them.

"Niisama?" Number 3 called, his voice croaked. He couldn't tell if the pink-haired boy had been crying or not since their faces were dripping with the rainwater, but his eyes looked red and puffy.

"We're almost there… you have to hang on!" he shouted, gripping his brother's hand harder.

There was lightning, cleaving through the dark sky, followed by a roar and billowing waves. The boat rocked again, and he immediately grabbed the edge while pulling his brother even closer so they wouldn't fall off, whatever voice and sound they let out drowned in the rumble of raging sea and gale. But then, he realized that his brother hadn't opened his mouth at all—his lips were pressed together firmly—although slightly trembled like the rest of his body.

He hadn't realized the hand he was holding was really thin and frail until he actually held it tightly, and despite knowing there was nothing to worry about, he couldn't help but afraid it would break under his firm grip. Back when they had been in the dig, Number 3 had always looked like he was going to break under the pressure of hard work of digging all day long, but he never had. The boy was actually quite strong for someone with such a slender figure—to the point of almost bony. He had fallen exhausted from time to time, but had never lost his consciousness and would be back on his feet again after a few minutes of rest—if the guards allowed it, of course. If not, they would drag him back to his feet forcefully and sent lashes until he started working again—albeit sluggishly. Years of working as slaves had built them to be strong enough to endure strenuous labor and harsh environment of rocky cave and scorching heat, but not skilled enough to fight hand-to-hand with the guards, who carried around swords and other torture instruments they never wanted to get involved with.

Even after they had managed to create chaos to escape, they hadn't known they would face another obstacle in the form of endless body of saltwater and all of its unknown danger. It was their first time outside the dig site, and thinking that if the heat or bone-breaking labor hadn't killed them, nothing could. How wrong could they be as now he felt like they were going to be killed by the pelting rain. The droplets weren't particularly big, and it was water—which they always regarded as the source of life—but it was falling on them in copious amount—giving the sensation of every drop of water boring hole into their body—not to mention cold, and they didn't even know where they would head to. They could only see never-ending ocean surface, spreading out to the horizon. When the storm came, they grew even unsure as to where the boat swayed to. The fear of the unknown was too overwhelming, feeding his despair even further.

The thought of putting his brother out of his misery had crossed his mind several times, but he could never bring himself to do it. This time, however, he had reached the end of his sanity. He was hungry, cold, and full of hopelessness. The only thing he could think of right now was how they would meet their end; hypothermia, starvation, drowning, being eaten alive, or even madness, and the list could go on forever. If only he could pick one for his brother, the quickest and least painful one.

But before he could decide, another lightning struck with deafening bellow, and they were too close to the beam of light that their boat was practically sent flying by the surging wave. He shouted something, but he couldn't even hear himself, everything was in chaos as they were thrown off the boat and hit the water. His brother's grip had loosened, but he refused to let go and calling his name, legs flailing under the water, trying to keep his head above the surface, but the wave was too strong. There was another lightning again, and again, and again, until he was blinded by the light—or maybe he simply lost consciousness. When he woke up, he had already been washed up on a shore, pain radiating from his right side, and no sign of his brother at all.

 _Ah, it all makes sense, now_.

He now knew why he was the only one enduring the strange dream. He was the only one who had made it to the United Land of Poseidon Ocean that night. His visit here had triggered the buried memories. His brothers had never stepped their feet on this land before, hence they stayed oblivious of that part of their previous life.

_Previous life?_

Since when had he acknowledged those dreams to be real? He didn't know. But the vision he had seen was enough proof—especially the last. He wasn't even sleeping, but he saw it anyway. All those scattered dream-pieces now started to make sense. Or, was it really?

IV looked away from the boat to his brothers, who was now playing in the water together. They were here now, alive and kicking, but they hadn't made it then. Should he be feeling superior that he knew something they didn't? Or should he be terrified that he might have lost his sanity to the extent of admitting those dreams to be true?

He needed a few more pieces to complete the puzzle—if it ever would, of course—and only then he would know for sure if he was really dreaming or not. It was their last day here, and his only chance to gather the remaining pieces while his brothers hadn't seen him.

The red-and-blond haired teen took one last glance at his brothers, and then disappeared into the nearby forest. He had a puzzle to solve before the end of this day.

* * *

 **_Word Count_ ** _: 4,434_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm officially having headache now. I wrote this in autopilot mode, seriously. I never planned for this chapter to be actually written and had to re-read the whole thing to make sure it was coherent. It wasn't. And I started rewriting it again in normal mode, which took forever to finish (I'm usually one chapter ahead whenever I post new chapter. But when I posted chapter eight, I was still halfway through this one). The gist of it is still the same, but the composition might be a bit different than the first attempt. Oh, well, you wouldn't read it anyway, why bother telling. So, yeah, after changing my mind for only-God-knows-how-many times, I finally decided to make the last two chapters into teaser for the actual semi-AU past-life fic—which will start in the next chapter (if I don't change my mind again, that is… since it's still in progress). I actually intended to write a separate fic, but I don't think it would be that long (10,000 words or something, at most), so I'll just post everything in here while I'm at it. I hope you guys don't get bored with the overwhelming amount of drama I put on lovely Thomas. I just couldn't help myself. :p Reviews are always welcome!_


	10. Memories (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... (my fabrication of) IV's memories of his past life, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_ _The title is pretty self-explanatory since I'm suck at making up names… :p_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

They never had a name for as long as they could remember. They were so used being called with their current code-names that they had forgotten what they had called each other before.

Well, at least Number 4 and his little brother couldn't remember; Number 5 might still remember something about their life before they ended up in the slavery since he had been the only one old enough when it all happened. But the older man never spoke of it, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, so he never asked. Besides, they had more than enough work to go around, and talking to each other was a luxury they couldn't afford most of the time.

Forget about talking, they were lucky if they could so much as look up to the sky when they worked outside. There was nothing in particular to be seen except wide expanse of blue—sometimes stained with various shades of orange—adorned with drifting clouds in various shapes and size, but it was certainly a refreshment compared to the endless layer of rock and dirt in their drab grey and brown shades they had to face every day. Sometimes, they would find some colorful sparkling stones that would look rather beautiful once it was polished. But it held no value to them whatsoever. For one, they would be punished severely if they were caught carrying such thing outside work hours and as their clothing only consisted of a sleeveless, worn-out tunic that went down just a little above their knees, adorned with equally worn-out belt around their hip, hiding compartment was almost impossible. Besides, if they had time admiring such thing, they would have spent it yearning for some other thing far more luxurious by their reckoning.

There was no one there who never dreamed of gaining their freedom, and a few were even foolish enough to pull the stunt, only to end up getting caught and, if they were lucky, be punished. If they didn't, they simply vanished from that place, literally and figuratively—they were never seen again and nobody wanted to, or even dared to, talk about them anymore. Their wellbeing depended heavily on the guards' mood as they would always find the slightest incriminating things they could blame on them so that they could get their 'sport', so they needed to keep their best behavior if they didn't want to be on the receiving end of their torture instruments.

Even so, not all of the guards ill-treated them. There were few of them that would show pity every once in a while, like giving extra portion for their meal if they looked starving enough, reducing their punishment slightly and let them rest longer before going back to labor, or even amicably talked to some of them about anything that came up—even story-telling; one of few things that made the slavery slightly more bearable.

"You'd want to watch out for the carnivorous fish if you go to the sea," said one of the guards; a middle aged man without hair but enormous muscles.

"That's stupid. How could they eat if they don't have hands?" Number 4 retorted snidely.

The man glared at the younger man. "Mouth is the most—and only—important part for eating. Even I could  _eat_  you with all my limbs tied behind my back."

"I'll strangle you with my bare hand first."

"Not if I bite your head first, genius."

"Oh, want to give it a try?" Number 4 stood up, fists balled on each side.

"Stop it, 4!" Number 5 immediately rushed to his little brother side, catching his arm to prevent him from advancing further. The guard who had been telling stories was one of the nicest and was probably just joking about the 'eating' part. But Number 4 always had something to say, and it would be a whole lot different story if other guards spotted them causing ruckus on mealtime like this.

"He's the one asking for it!" 4 persisted, didn't mind the slightest of his ever increasing volume of voice.

"We're going back to work soon. We don't have time for this!" the silver-haired man's grip on his brother's hand tightened. The others, sensing there would be trouble, began to scamper away, leaving only the guard and Number 4 with his two brothers; Number 5 and Number 3, the latter looked afraid but opted to stay anyway, as he couldn't think of anything else to do.

"What's happening here?"

Right on cue, when one other guard appeared, the bald guard immediately punched Number 4 in the stomach, causing the latter to cough in pain. He said, "Just giving these losers a few lessons."

The new guard—another middle-aged man, but with thick black mane this time—smirked and began walking towards them. "I know this one. He's the troublemaker. Think it's about time we break his limbs to teach him some real lessons?"

The three brothers—especially Number 4—visibly stiffened at the words. Number 3 moved closer to his eldest brother, who shoved Number 4 behind his back, as if to protect them. "I'm sorry about my brother's attitude. But we have to go back to work now…" he said, voice trembling slightly.

"You  _two_  can go back to work. I'll have this little punk to test how hard I can grip," the hairy guard said, grabbing Number 4's shoulder across Number 5's.

Number 5 pushed his brother back slowly. "Please… he hasn't done anything harmful this time! He was just carried away—"

"If you'd like to share the punishment, that'd be one less limb to break from you each," the guard interjected.

"Oh, please. Like you could even break a twig with such lithe arm? You grab like girl." Number 4 provoked much to his brothers' horror. To further prove his point, he slapped away the man's hand from his shoulder and proceeded to charge ahead like a bull.

The black haired guard hadn't prepared himself for such surprise that he lost his momentum when Number 4's head slammed into his stomach and fell down. Number 4 immediately ran away from the scene, leaving his brothers and the two guards dumbfounded. The fallen guard cursed loudly and began calling for reinforcement, while the other one pushed the two brothers away so that they wouldn't be involved in the ensuing chaos.

As much as the Number 5 and 3 wanted to make sure that their brother wouldn't be killed after what he had done—even if that meant they would be punished, too—they let themselves being shoved away. The possibility of a death penalty was small, as the guards never killed unless one of them committed serious crime like killing or attempting escape. Besides, they had a pretty good idea about what the middle brother had tried to accomplish; Number 4 was using himself to divert the guards' attention to him, so that his brothers could escape.

As the hairy guard had mentioned before, Number 4, in particular, was one that couldn't care less of his action or whatever word came out of his mouth. He had a rather magnificent track record in term of getting the most punishment among the slaves—and even among the equally trouble-making ones—that he had built reputation out of it. No amount of punishment seemed to be able to put him into obedience, and the guards themselves enjoyed whatever stunt he would pull every now and then in their otherwise dull work of keeping watch of the slaves digging all day long that they never punished him seriously—same went for the other 'acrobat monkey', or so they would call the troublemakers. That didn't mean they would cut slack the punishment—they enjoyed that certain part of the  _entertainment_ , after all, they were just being careful not to overdo it.

They had just recently moved to this dig site, so most of them were still unfamiliar with the rather vast terrain of rocks, but Number 4 practically lived his entire life in the land of endless tunnel and rocky ravines, so he had a pretty good grasp of where he was going without knowing  _exactly_  where. He kept running, shoving people out of his way, dodging the guards by taking sharp turns and plunging himself into the cave, trying to find some obscured nook where he could hide. He knew he would be caught in the end anyway, but a few hours of reprieve before the punishment wasn't something he would decline. He just hoped they hadn't thought of taking hold his brothers in his stead. He knew there would always be such risk, but he had figured that the guards—the rogue ones—were easily provoked that they never thought of such backhanded means. Playing cat and mouse was one 'fun' aspect of the entire mayhem—even he had to admit that he enjoyed the adrenaline rush.

After running for a while, he finally strayed away from the crowd. No slaves would try to run after him, but they might tell on him. So he had to make sure to get as far away as possible before eventually coming back. He couldn't risk them thinking he was trying to escape.

As he got deeper into the cave after making random turns and crawled through small spaces, he realized that the rocks around him started to change into darker colors until the one he was currently stepping on was black and jagged. The air had also gotten damp and the road was steeping down. Curious, he followed the jagged-rock covered path until he ended up in a huge cave with some sort of lake spreading before him. He gaped as he had never seen caves like that. He couldn't figure out where the light was coming from, but he could see everything inside that cave quite clearly; jagged cone-shaped rocks in various sizes hanging and protruding from the ceiling and floor, dripping with water, while the water surface sparkled with the unknown source of light.

He marveled at the sight, unconsciously stepping towards the water and crouched at its edge, dipping his hand slightly. It was really water, but it felt different than the one he had used to drink—he didn't know what, he just felt like it—so he licked his soaked hand. He scrunched his nose when his tongue recognized the salty tinge—abruptly reminded of the bald guard's story about saltwater. But something didn't add up. Saltwater was supposed to be part of an ocean; a vast, open expanse of water—or so the guard had said—but this place was anything but open—despite the vague light. He tried looking beyond the water, but there was only darkness.

The red-and-blond haired teen sat down, still looking ahead. He wondered if beyond that darkness, there would be the so-called sea and the flesh-eating fish. Other slaves seemed to enjoy the story-telling, saying it gave them imagination to make life in the slavery slightly better, but he didn't quite like it as it only feeding his yearning for the outside world even greater. Indeed, he had never tried to run away, but that didn't necessarily mean he had never thought about it—trying to come up with some way he could get out there with his brothers without killing either of them. Many had tried and perished, but he would be the first one who made it outside alive—along with his brothers. Or so he hoped. His brothers refused to even talk about it, afraid the guards would hear them and kept reminding him of what he would do once (and if) they were outside.

"You don't even know what's edible or not out there," Number 5 would say when he initiated the talk about getting away.

"The guard said these berries are picked from some wild bushes, didn't he?" Number 4 retorted, fiddling with the small red fruit with his fingers. "And there're trees that grows nuts that's either edible or  _drinkable_. I think we can survive with that."

The silver haired man furrowed his brows. "Nuts are food, not drink. We only drink water."

"There  _is_  drinkable nut. It's called coco nut. My hearing works just fine, you know," Number 4 persisted.

Number 5 face-palmed at the answer and changed the subject, "You know what, I don't care if there're drinkable nuts or whatever, we shouldn't be talking about outside world."

"Why not? It's faster if we work together, right? So we have to think together to come up with something faster, too."

"You'd get into trouble if they hear you."

"They don't lash that hard."

"You're always crying in your sleep after every punishment."

That shut him up almost every time, even though after he had thought about it again, he would have known if he had cried his eyes out the whole night; his eyes would be red and puffy like Number 3 did after he had cried. He had retorted that the next time they argued, but Number 5 found another way to make him stop talking. So, he had to think all by himself.

After a while, he decided it was time to go back and get caught. He relied on his body memory to bring him back to the nearest digging cave, thinking if there were some ways he could use his recent discovery to escape along the way back. Too drowned in his thought, he didn't realize when he had finally reached the site again from behind a boulder, people whispering around him. Only when some shouting reached his ears that he snapped out of his reverie.

Reflexively, he turned around and started to run, even though he knew the outcome would be the same—but the adrenaline had kicked in again. Angry shouting came from every direction, as well as rushed footsteps. He didn't need to shove anyone away as they did it before he could bump into them. It was harder now that almost all the guards were after him. But then, it was about time his adrenaline became too much for his body to handle. He slipped his feet when he was trying to climb down a rock and the next second, he was already being hauled away by the men, spewing curses at them.

Number 5 and 3 was informed of their brother's capture and couldn't help but worry. What if the hairy guard was really serious about breaking some limbs? With Number 4's reputation, it wasn't that far-fetched idea. Though there had never been slaves being punished that severe just for causing trouble, there was always possibility that their brother would be the first. And they were so used feeling worried to soften the blow when they heard the bad news—which usually didn't live up to their fear.

When the next morning came, anxieties had eaten them away that their breakfast, which consisted of insipid bread and some small berries, tasted like flavorless morsel. The punished usually was returned the next morning after they were punished, but today, they hadn't seen nor heard about Number 4 the whole morning and it certainly said something else.

By lunch, Number 5 decided to ask one of the guards about his brother. The bald guard who had been telling stories the day before was looking reluctant to tell him and it only concerned the silver haired man even more.

"Your brother really is something, seriously," he said, obviously trying to avoid the real answer. "I know he's a troublemaker, but last night was brutal—him, I mean. He wouldn't shut up and kept taunting the guards that some of them actually boiled their heads up."

"But he's okay, right?" Number 5 asked, the corners of his mouth tightened.

The guard frowned again, still looking reluctant, but finally gave in after a few moment. "I can't even think of a way to smooth this. No. He's not." Seeing Number 5's blanched face, he promptly added, "He's alive, don't worry. He's just in no shape to work, or even move now. They just ignored him lying in the 'torture chamber'. Honestly, that's the best treatment he could get after what he had put up yesterday."

"Can we see him?"

Again, the bald guard looked conflicted. Visiting the condemned after a punishment wasn't a violation, and nobody would fuss them over it as long as it didn't interfere with work hours, but that wasn't what concerned him. He had seen the boy earlier that morning to check if he was still alive (and consequently surprised that he did), but he wasn't sure if the brother would want to see his sibling in that state. What terrified him the most was what if the boy was already dead by the time they came? With the injury he sustained, that was to be expected. Now, visiting the dead one was the real issue.

If one was killed, it was because they committed serious crime, or simply angered the guards that they couldn't hold back the punishment. The boy had been lashed right after he had gotten caught and it had continued on until midnight. Lashing wasn't the usual punishment to kill the condemned, but, as he had said before, last night was something else. No slaves had ever been punished that long—nearly half a day—and the boy certainly had ignited the wrath of enough guards for them to volunteer delivering the blow one after another that they had made a rather long line. He hadn't participated, but even before he had seen that boy this morning he knew it would be bad.

"Please?"

The silver haired young man's hopeful face was what made him agreed and silently led the younger man to where his brother was. He was rather moved by the way the three brothers looking after one another in their own way—even Number 4. Besides, Number 5 was one of the oldest around, and he could trust him to behave as such under certain circumstances. When they arrived at the chamber (which was actually a part of a cave styled like a room), the red haired boy was still there, unmoving, and lying on his stomach. His chain was already removed and lying messily around him.

"4!" Number 5 gasped and kneeled by his brother's side, cringed when he saw the wound. It was actually quite superficial, and it wasn't his first time seeing blood, but it didn't quell his urge to vomit upon seeing the bloody gash zigzagged on his brother's back. "Are you sure they only whipped his back?"

"I didn't remain to watch, but knife wound doesn't look like that."

Whipping or lashing was the most common form of punishment, and the numbers of lashing they got depended on how severe their crime was—or how bad the mood of the executor. As the notorious troublemaker, he was used seeing his brother's back adorned with bruise and scratch, but never this bad.

"Next time, they might really break his limbs," the guard said matter-of-factly.

"I know…" Number 5 said quietly. "Can I bring him back?"

"You might want to be careful with his back. Here, let me help," the guard pointed out and pulled another sheet of cloth from a nearby pile and carefully wrapping it around Number 4's torso.

The boy wasn't moving the whole time, his body was limp, but anyone could see he was still breathing, which was a relief—though he wasn't sure how would they tend to the wound and dealing with other complications later on. Number 5 hoisted his brother on his back and started to leave when the guard called.

"The wounds aren't that deep. I'm sure your brother will be okay. He's stubborn, you know that. Just don't forget to clean his wound at least twice a day with water," he offered.

Number 5 stopped briefly and nodded, then resuming his track. He carried his brother back to the dilapidated row houses made of thin wooden boards that looked like they were going to be blown away by wind anytime soon. He placed his brother on one of the stuffy old mattresses and set out to clean the wound. Lunchbreak was almost over but he had to clean the wound first or he would risk infecting it. The worst they would do to him for being late was some lashes. He could manage. For now, he had to make sure his brother would survive before he returned to work.

After that, he needed to talk to his brother.

* * *

 **_Word Count_ ** _: 3,434_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is supposed to be more eventful as it (is supposed to) cover the entire time when Number 4 was in the slavery in less than five thousand words, but who am I to protest against my muse? So, yeah, it's going to be split into different chapter… again… ahem. Reviews are always welcome :)_


	11. Memories (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... (my fabrication of) IV's memories of his past life, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

Number 5 had always been the obedient one; a perfect example for his youngest brother, Number 3, but a stark contrast to his other brother, Number 4.

It was true Number 4 had always been the spunkiest one in their village; always running and jumping, trying to outrun everyone else, but he had never been this spiteful like he was now. It had been different, of course, when their father and mother had been around to remind them not to go too far.

Their father had been a lord of certain area once and he was loved by his people. They weren't a royalty as they didn't have a throne room in their otherwise huge dwelling, and they interacted with the villagers like normal people; no bowing, no saluting and such. Their mother was a paragon of woman perfection; beautiful, poised, multi-talented, and prioritizing manners over intellectual knowledge. She was the one keeping the bookings—or even everything—of the household while raising and governing her sons. They were busy, but never failed to spare some quality family time. It definitely sounded like one of those fairytales their mother used to read them, and it might as well be, as the happiness seemed to vanish in a blink of an eye—just like the stories.

It had happened one night, when everything had been asleep. Or it was supposed to, if Number 5 wasn't feeling like he couldn't sleep for some unknown reason, he just sat on the bed, looking out from the window, wondering why the village's scenery outside was blazing; it looked like there was a huge bonfire beyond the tress obscuring his view. Were there any festivities they missed out? Well, they wouldn't be allowed to go out this late anyway, but he was sure their parents had retreated to their room the same time they did and it was unusual if his parents didn't attend the local festival unless they were feeling unwell—and he was also sure they were fine before. Maybe they simply opted out of it to spend the evening with their children as they had been busy the last few days. It would be winter soon, and they had to secure the harvest before the grounds covered with snow and as the lord of the land, they had to make sure everyone got their share fairly.

But something still bothered him somehow, so he climbed out of his bed and carefully tiptoed his way out of the room, trying not to make any noise. It was really quiet in a middle of the night like this and the lighting was so dim that he could barely see anything. He tried looking out from another window in the hallway to get better look of the bonfire scene. Someday, a few years from now, he would be required to attend such occasion with his father, and then, maybe, with his own family. He still couldn't imagine himself becoming like his father; leading and managing an entire area. Indeed, he was currently in training, and although he was a spitting image of his father, he still couldn't get the picture of him as someone like his father.

As he stared absently outside the window, he finally realized what had been bothering him. Bonfire by the end of autumn was an annual festival, and although he spent most of his times in the house drowning in lessons, didn't mean he paid no heed to what was happening around him. He would run errand from his father sometimes, going to the village with his brothers to deliver messages or buy things, as well as getting to know the villagers better. He had heard some things about preparation for the momentous occasion when he had been out to the village earlier this day, but if he remembered correctly, it wasn't supposed to be held until a few more days on full moon. Could it be the festival was moved up? Was there really something he missed out?

Before he could figure out, however, there was a loud banging sound from the direction of front parlor. He wondered who would visit at a time like this, but his thought was interrupted again as the next second, there was another loud, crashing sound of the front door being opened by force, then voices of people shouting echoed. The silver haired boy froze at the spot, unsure what to do. The servants who lived in the quarters downstairs would have been awakened by now and would take care of the unexpected guest—if they were really guest, of course.

Everything happened after that was a blur in his memory as the chaos erupting in one single night was too much for his childish mind to process. He remembered trying to wake his little brothers up one by one, and when they were about to sneak off through a hidden passage, the perpetrators managed to catch them and dragged them to the back of a rather huge caravan and locked them with some other children. He didn't have time to see if they were with other children from their village or there were others too as his youngest brother, who had been practically a baby, was crying the whole way and he was trying his hardest to calm him down.

He remembered Number 4 had been asking questions about where they would go or what about their parents, and all that. He would like to know the answer himself. He couldn't remember how they had ended up with the codenames, or how he had managed to convince some of the guards to let him keep his baby brother until he turned old enough to work. It felt as if his memories were slowly being eaten away after years of strenuous labor. He still remembered them sometimes when he was feeling particularly pensive, and it felt surreal now when he thought about it again. He might have been dreaming all this time; that their life then hadn't been true; that their seemingly happy family was just figment of his bored mind.

The only proof that all those things had really happened was just the scar on Number 4's face. The boy had been trying to fight back by foolishly throwing himself to one of the raiders—even though they had been clearly  _outsized_  and outnumbered. It had been the boy's first scar and he was doing exactly the same thing again—roughly thirteen years after that. But that still didn't mean that his memories about the times before that were true. True, there were other children from their village too, who worked alongside him as slaves, but they barely had chances to keep up with each other before they were separated and moved to different dig sites and he hadn't seen them again ever since. There was no one else to convince him that it had really happened at one point of his life. It was pretty clear that his brothers remembered nothing of it too—they couldn't even remember their names anymore—even though Number 4 had used to asking questions in the first few months after they had been forced to work as slaves. But one day, the questions stopped and for several quiet years, the boy was obedient. His first show of rebellious streak was when Number 3 had fallen exhausted in his first day of work and the guards were shouting at him to get up. Number 4 retaliated and threw back their insults, and it ended up in his first ever punishment and the beginning of his troublemaker 'career'.

 _Must be nice being a child, huh?_  Number 5 thought grimly. Feared nothing, forgot easily, and could hold blindly onto wishful hopes. On the other hand, he was already tired. He had been shoved with responsibilities far beyond his age when it all went downhill; he had to work as slave and shared what scarce meals he got with his younger brothers—who had been too young to work at the time. Even after Number 4 and Number 3 were deemed old enough and start working, he had to make sure his brothers did it right or it would be lashing for all of them. Now, all he wanted to do was to live the rest of his life quietly, even if he had to work his muscles off. Number 3 seemed to follow his path, but Number 4 was unstoppable.

"I heard there are ships arriving here in a few days," Number 4 said rather excitedly one afternoon, a little more than a week after his last (and also worst) punishment.

"I don't want to hear about that," Number 5 replied without stopping his work.

Number 4 disregarded his brother and continued, "I'm just thinking if we could 'borrow' one of those ships to escape."

"4, that's enough." Number 5 tried to stop the talk before it got out of hand and the guards heard him.

"I don't care if they're going to break my limbs next time. I've had enough of this place. I'd rather die trying than—" He couldn't finish his sentence as Number 5's fist was suddenly connected with his jaw.

"You're not going to die. I won't let you," the silver haired man said firmly.

"And then, what? Spend the rest of our wretched life here as slaves? What a bright future, indeed," 4 said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He rubbed his sore jaw and backed away from his brother.

"If you die, there won't be anything anymore."

"I did say I'd rather die trying than rot here like you."

The two brothers exchanged sharp gaze for a few intense moment until Number 5's deep blue orb gave way and turned to another direction. If Number 4's yearning to get out was a wishful thinking, his hope for his brother to stop thinking about it was as wishful—if not more.

It had happened before, hadn't it? What was it again? It had something to do with winning something and giving the prize to someone. No, he couldn't remember it anymore, but he felt a sharp pang of déjà vu over the whole situation. The more distance between his brother and him, the hazier his memories became. He wanted to tell his brother to do whatever he wanted and wouldn't want to know the consequences, but he just couldn't let the last remaining piece of his past slip by his fingers just like that. Even as Number 4 always acted on his own accord, he never failed to put his brothers beyond everything else. Their instinct to protect each other was stronger than their regards to their own life. It was true when they said bloods ran thicker than any other substances in the entire universe.

The red-and-blond haired teen was already back to work again, ignoring Number 3's concerned question about what had happened. The jagged scar mark was still visible on his upper back where it was unobscured by the collar of his tunic. Now, fewer slaves—and even guards—would talk to them for fear of getting into more troubles. One or two more stunts to pull, they'd definitely be outcasts among outcasts. It wasn't his fault in the first place, but they were already in it together anyway. Number 4 was right, they had no future here.

He was fine with it as he had been through far worse things; witnessing people he knew got killed before his eyes was one of them, but Number 3 and 4 hadn't seen nor remembered any of it. The world outside was even more ruthless and unforgiving—even their supposedly peaceful domain then hadn't slipped the eye of destruction. Maybe it was the 'peaceful' part that had brought forth its untimely end. Bandits knew there would be more food where there was no conflict and came to raid their village. The old ones were killed if they showed sign of deviation, spared if they cooperated, and the young ones were all taken away to serve as their manpower—or lack thereof—as they said the smaller ones were easier to control and utilize as the job involved a lot of crawling through small spaces.

The fact that he and his brothers were still alive now sometimes astonished him. Maybe those people—whoever they were who had brought them here—weren't all that bad. The foods were horrible, and the job was hard, but at least they wouldn't be raided here. Of course he had tried that reasoning once or twice against Number 4, but he just wouldn't listen.

Even though he had said that he didn't want to hear about the ships that was rumored to arrive here soon, he still wondered what they were going to do here. There were times when some people from the capital came to conduct some sort of inspection. They hadn't come with ships then, but with a rather huge caravan that reminded him of the same vehicle that had brought him to that place, and he wondered for what occasion they would bring the ships this time. Supplying some more manpower from another land, perhaps? This site was rather big and new, after all. But that wasn't the thing he should be worried about.

What if Number 4 was serious about 'borrowing' the ships? He would definitely be killed if he got caught, and even if he succeeded, where would they go anyway? It wasn't as if they knew where they were now, so going back to their village—or even anywhere—was never an option, even if he came along. He didn't know what he would do himself if Number 4 actually pulled the stunt, so for the rest of the day, and the following days, he stayed close to his brother, who was still sulking as he acted like he didn't exist—not that not talking to each other was something new to them.

"It's the ships!" someone shouted one afternoon and Number 5 jumped a little at the loud voice. Every slave in the perimeter stopped working and turned their attention to the direction of the voice. Some of them even moved closer to get a better look. It turned out they didn't need to do that.

The ships were huge that they could even see it from behind the rocky hills—and their site was a few hundred meters away from the shore. Number 5 glanced at Number 4, who looked at the ships in a slight awe, so did the other slaves.

"How are we going to navigate that…?" Number 4 murmured in a low voice.

"You're serious about that?" Number 5 hissed at his brother.

The red-and-blond haired young man glanced back at his brother, lips twisting into a scowl but said nothing. Number 5 moved closer to his brother, as if afraid the boy would immediately dash straight to the ships.

Some of the guards shouted at them to go back to work, most of them did, but Number 4 and a handful of other were still staring at the ships. Number 5 tugged his brother's arm and said, "Let's go back to work, 4."

Much to his surprise, Number 4 quietly complied and let himself being dragged away by his brother. They went back to work up until dinner, where they gathered in their usual eating spot with other slaves. If there was something unusual that night was the presence of a lot more well-dressed guards on a boulder as a makeshift podium. They announced themselves as the officials from the main kingdom and came here to look for more people to join their ranks, as they said they would declare war to the neighboring country. There were excited murmurs from among the slaves as well as the guards.

Some of the guards walked among the crowd and handpicked some slaves to make a line in the front, possibly picking the strongest ones to be later evaluated and selected. But then, Number 5 was surprised when he, too, was being tugged by one of them to stand up and led to the front. He threw glances at his brothers, who looked back at him with the same amount of surprise plastered on their faces.

"These are the strongest and loyal ones," the guard said.

 _What?_  Number 5 thought, everything in his sight was a blur but his brothers, who sat among the crowds, still with shocked countenance.

"They look promising," said one of the officials, scrutinizing each one of them like appraising an art like his father had used to. He couldn't see anything anymore, all he could think of was his brothers were getting further away from him—or, was it him who got further away from them?

"C'mon, we'll test them in our training grounds." One of the guards started shoving them one by one, urging them to move.

No. He couldn't go. Not now. What if his brother really went on with his plan? Who would stop him then?

He could see Number 3 leaned closer to Number 4, saying something—probably asking about him. Number 4 didn't answer or even look another way, he was glaring at him, his expression looked betrayed.

"Move on, boy!"

The silver haired young man could feel his body being shoved forward, but he couldn't see anything clearly. Where was he going? What about his brothers? What were they going to do with him?

His thought was interrupted when his side was struck hard with some sort of a wooden stick. He doubled over, groaning in pain, his side was throbbing with pain. He had never been struck that hard—not with something that solid, at least. He lifted a hand to hold his side, but then, he realized the he was also holding a wooden stick with his other hand.

"What are you doing, boy? Get up! You want to impress these people!"

He turned his head to the voice, which turned out to be one of the guards standing a few feet away from him. Confused, he propped his body with his hand to get up, but before he could rise, his stomach was kicked and again, he was thrown back a good few meters.

Was he being punished? For what? What had he done? Why was he holding the stick?

"Get up, pretty boy. You're making me look like a big bully."

 _Right_. He remembered. He wasn't being punished. He was tested. But he couldn't care less about it. He had to get back to his brothers before he did something reckless. As if being jolted awake, he jumped to his feet and without warning, he hit back. His opponent took the attack in surprise and he used the opportunity to land another blow before dropping his weapon and started to run.

"What the hell are you doing?!" someone shouted, but he didn't turn back to look.

"Whoa, chill, boy!" a guard blocked his way. "You're not going to get punished this time. Now, show us some more trick."

 _What?_  He wanted to shout back at them that he had to return to his brothers, but his mouth—even his body—wouldn't cooperate. If Number 4's immediate reaction for being challenged was to fight back, he was the complete opposite. He was too used to obeying orders that it had become a habit. He let himself being pushed back into the arena, where another opponent—he didn't know who—was waiting for him. He swung the wooden stick; sometimes it would land on his opponent with a satisfying crack, sometimes he had to dodge from it, sometimes he would be forced to use his bare hand. It went on all night and at some point, he joined the others in the sidelines, watching another slaves battled their life to impress the nicely-dressed people.

"You'll do very well on the field, boy, I could see it coming!" one of those people patted his back.

"His brother's a better fighter. Too bad he just can't take orders," a guard added, sitting down next to him so that he was crunched between the two. He felt rather awkward but there was nothing he could do anyway but keeping his eyes casted downward, listening silently at the mention of his brother.

"Is he here, too?"

"Nah, we didn't pick him. I did say he can't take orders and boy, did we try to discipline him all the time. I believe he has some loose wires inside his head. We lashed him 'til he's bloodied and battered, but no, still the same brainless rogue."

The nicely-dressed guy laughed. "Maybe you guys overworked him." The guard followed suit in their laughing fit, while Number 5 quietly sighed in relief, knowing that his brother wasn't in any trouble—yet.

The night was getting late, and the euphoria had died down a little. Most of them were now talking, congratulating each other that they would soon leave the slavery behind and embarked to serve the kingdom. Some of them were actually excited, some were reluctant but didn't show it, and Number 5 was pensive. He hadn't seen who else got picked, and what happened to those who didn't, his mind was still preoccupied by his brother, who should have been sleeping in their barrack by now. The official had said that they wouldn't be returning to their barrack and would sleep in the quarters provided in the ships for them as they would depart first thing in the next morning. He was saved the trouble of asking by another slave who asked if they could return to the barrack to say goodbye to their friends. The guards relented and allowed them as long as they were back before sunrise. So he joined the other heading back to the barrack, followed by two guards to make sure they would come back.

Number 5's heart was pounding the whole way, so hard that he was afraid the other would hear it. He couldn't think what he would say to them. He never wanted to leave. He never wanted any of these to happen.

When they reached the row houses, they scattered around and Number 5 wasted no time entering the one where he and his brothers usually slept. Most of the occupants had already been asleep, only some annoyed grunt could be heard from somewhere around the room. Their beds were located in the far end of the house and he felt like he had to walk through an endless row of mattresses just to get there. He felt his heart was going to explode when he finally reached the beds, only to find out that they were empty.

Again, his sight blurred. He looked around, trying to catch some glimpse of his brothers. Maybe they had just gotten away. Maybe he could still stop them. Maybe…

It was Number 4, who was he trying to fool?

"Fuck!" he cursed loudly and turned around, starting to make his way out of the barrack. If Number 4 was serious about taking over the ship, there was only one place he would be right now. Once he was out of the house, he immediately ran to the shore, hoping to find his brothers along the way. But his breath was wasted when he heard explosion not far behind him.

_No, no, no, it can't be…_

The kitchen barrack was ablaze, and people—slaves and guards alike—were running amok. There wasn't usually any activity in the site at a time like this, but the fire had caused the slaves and guards occupying the nearest barrack to pour out to get as further away from the heart of fire, and soon, the chaos would spread to the entire site. He could hear movement from behind him. Apparently, the other had heard the explosion and was curious. Some of them called the others, some rushed to the burning barrack to help those who were trying to put out the fire.

The silver-haired young man resumed his track to the ships. He could see what his brother was trying to do, but he never imagined he would actually pull it. Among sea of panicked people, he was the only one going against the current and his steps were obstructed because of that. The shore was now practically empty as even people from the ships were now joining the crowd to watch the spectacle, but that was none of his concern. The two ships towered over him and he climbed the one closest to the port.

This time, his breath wasn't wasted as he could see two small, shadowy figures lurking around the deck, not too far away from where the ladder was. He quickened his pace and didn't even try to hide the sound he made. He had every right to be on that ship, so he wouldn't get into trouble even if he got caught. His brothers were the ones that would get into trouble for whatever they were doing up there.

"Niisama!" called a familiar voice, whose owner was rushing towards him.

"3!" Number 5 called back and rushed towards the voice. He hugged the pink-haired boy's small figure when their body crashed into each other.

"We were worried about you," Number 3 said.

"The fuck are you doing, wimp?! Help me out here!" another familiar voice shouted, his figure was still hidden by the shadow, but he didn't need to see the face.

"That's supposed to be my line, 4!" Number 5 yelled back. "Did you cause the fire?"

"I did, so what?" Number 4 said coldly, not moving from his place by the railings.

"You could've killed someone!"

"So, what? I'd be killed, too, if I get caught."

"You're seriously going to steal this ship?" Number 5 cut straight to the business, knowing they didn't have much time before anyone found out. His brothers were already here anyway and he couldn't waste time playing the blaming game.

"No, genius. It's too big. They would see us the moment this thing moves," Number 4 said, pulling a thick rope from a pulley. "I'm going to use one of these boats."

"You're mad." Number 5 shook his head

"Thank you. Now, are you going to help me or join your new friends there?"

"We can't do this… we won't survive out there… You don't even know how to row those boats…"

"Well, it's a bit too late to think about it now, don't you think? I can't go back anymore. They'd know I was the one causing that fire. My life's already forfeit here."

"I'll vouch for you. Please, come back… We don't need to do this…"

"And how are you going to do it, oh, brother? You'd be long gone to the kingdom when they finally managed to catch us."

"Come with us, niisama," Number 3 begged, tugging his brother's arm.

"No… you can't be serious…" Number 5 stepped back. If he had been afraid that his brother would actually try to escape and got killed in the process, now he was beyond terrified. He knew he couldn't leave his brothers alone and would come with them in the end. But, then what?

They had no destination, no supply, and who knew what would await them in the vast ocean? Not to mention that he had forgotten everything about outside world long ago. He had accepted the fact that living in obedience couldn't be that bad. It was easier than trying to fight back and facing the unknown consequences.

"Shit!" Number 4 cursed loudly when his hand slipped, causing the boat, which was being suspended by the pulley, hit the ship's body. "3, help me hold this goddamn thing!"

Number 3 rushed back to Number 4's side, while Number 5 was still glued to his spot, unsure what he had to do. The answer was obvious, though, but the doubt still invaded his mind. Beyond the ship's railing, he could see the fire was still rampaging, and people scattering around looked like hoard of ants from up here. Something bothered him, like he had forgotten something important.

Why there wasn't any crew? There was no way they would just leave the ship this empty, right?

The question snapped him back to reality. He looked around, trying to find presence of someone—anyone—else on that ship before they were found. The downstairs hatch was open, but there was no sound or voice that it unsettled him. He shouldn't be complaining about it, though, but this was too easy. He turned around to look at his brothers; they were still busy pulling each rope so the boat wouldn't topple downward to the water. He joined them and took the rope from Number 3's hand.

"You two, get on the boat. I'll pull these," he said in commanding tone.

Number 4 looked surprised, and Number 3 asked, "You'll be coming with us, right?"

Number 5 nodded firmly and said. "I will, but you go on first."

Though looking reluctant, Number 3 climbed down the rope to the boat, which was halfway down the side of the ship. Number 5 took the other rope from Number 4, who flinched and stepped back. "I'll stay here until the boat's safely reached the water," he said.

Knowing he couldn't waste any more time arguing with 4, he nodded slightly and pulled the rope alongside his brother. The boat wasn't particularly big, but trying to keep both sides balanced was a lot harder than it seemed, especially added with Number 3's weight. After what seemed like forever, the boat finally landed on the water with a splash.

"3! Unlatch the rope!" Number 4 shouted over the railings while Number 5 looked around again.

The fire had been mostly subdued, but most of the people were still watching the damage that had been done; half of the kitchen barrack was now a black, misshapen pile of ruins with small flame flickering every here and there. Some of the nicely-dressed people talked to some anxious-looking guards, while other guards were shouting to the slaves to get back to their barrack. They still had times before those people returned to the ship but somehow, that uneasy feeling attacked again.

"4, get into the boat," he urged his brother.

"You don't need to tell me," Number 4 grumbled and began climbing down the rope ladder.

He made sure his brother safely landed on the boat before he started climbing down himself to join his brothers. Once he was on the boat, they were busy arranging their seat and a rather big bundle he hadn't seen before, and taking out the paddle; Number 4 used one of it to push the boat away from the ship, while Number 5 began rowing with the other one. Once they were a good distance away from the ship, Number 4 also started rowing, though he was fumbling clumsily with the long wooden stick.

"Is that food?" Number 5 asked, pointing the bundle shoved under Number 3's seat.

"Yeah, I stole them before setting the stoves on fire," Number 4 answered, sounding rather proud.

"I still can't believe we're actually doing this," Number 5 said, looking back to the shore. Number 4 replied something, but he couldn't hear him when he saw a few pairs of eyes looking back at him with surprise—he probably put the same face too.

They shouted something, but he could only make out, "They're escaping!" which also brought his brothers' attention.

"Don't look back! Row faster!" Number 5 commanded, and Number 4 murmured something while trying to move the paddle more vigorously. They hadn't gotten far when the first arrow hit the side of the boat, causing him to jump a little in his seat. "Get down, you two!"

"But the oar…"

The eldest brother snatched the oar from his brother and snapped, "Shut up and just get down!"

Maybe Number 4 was too surprised to retaliate, or simply realized that their situation was dire that he did as he was told. It was hard rowing by himself, but at least he didn't need to worry about his brothers now, as long as they stayed down because the next second, they were pelted down by arrows; some were shot from the shore, some from the deck of the ship.

Everything was plunging into chaos in that small boat. He heard Number 4 cried out something, but he told him to stay down. From his peripheral vision, he could see that some of them were trying to get another boat down, so he rowed faster and harder until he couldn't feel his arms anymore. There was a surge of wave and their boat was being carried further away from the shore. It went to their favor, so he stopped rowing and let the nature did its work. The arrows couldn't reach them now and when things had quieted down a bit, his brothers rose from their seat.

"Niisama?" was Number 3's voice that broke the silence.

"We're okay. They can't reach us anymore…" he replied in between his ragged breath. Why was he having difficulties breathing? He probably had overexerted himself with the rowing.

"I'll take it from here," Number 4 said, quietly taking the oars from his hand. He wanted to protest, but then found out that he felt rather dizzy, like he had been out in the sun for too long. But it was still midnight; the sun hadn't even out yet.

Number 5 felt something being tugged from his side and when he turned his head, he was met with a flustered Number 3. "I'm sorry… did I hurt you, niisama?"

"No, what…?" he asked back, confused.

"Just snap it! If we pull that out, it won't stop bleeding!" Number 4 said, a little bit too harshly than he had intended.

"Bleeding? What are you guys talking about?" he asked again, his sight grew even hazier.

Something tugged again from his side, and he tried to look what had caused it. He could only make out red stain on his clothes and when he touched it, his hand was immediately soaked with something warm and wet. "Wha—"

"I can't…" Number 3 said, voice croaked.

The middle brother jerked the oars in frustration and turned his body to face his brothers. He did something to Number 5's side, but the latter could only yelp when a sharp pang of pain tugged his side again.

"There," Number 4 said, throwing something into the water, then returned to rowing the boat again.

Number 5 shifted his body, trying to get a comfortable position. His side was searing with pain, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Number 3's hand was holding his arm tightly and he could hear the boy was sobbing.

"Do you remember?" he started, chuckling a little at the reminiscence. "You were crying too, 4… when the first time father rowed a boat in the lake behind our house."

There was no reply, so he continued, "You were crying like crazy, saying you wanted to go back to the land and holding onto mother very tightly… Honestly, you reminded me of koalas we once saw in one of our books."

He had never recalled it up until now. He wondered about it himself. It felt strange, like suddenly, all of his memories came tumbling back to his mind. He remembered how his father and mother had looked like, and how they had spent their spare time as family. If this kept on, he might be able to remember their names again. If they made it somewhere, they would restart their life, and it would be nice if they could call each other with real names again.

"Father would be proud if he could see you rowing this thing all by yourself," he said, trying to keep the flooding images rolling by saying things that came up to his mind.

He swam through the sea of memories, trying to find the ones with the mention of their names. There were some funny moments where he had fought for the first time with Number 4 when the latter had still been a baby and he had been trying to tickle his brother only to make the baby cried and flailing his limbs. Thinking the baby was trying to start a fight, he hit back, and then his brother cried even harder before their mother witnessed the scene and scolded him. There were also loads of lessons. Playing hide and seek with other children. Scraping his knees and saw blood for the first time. After a while, he finally found it. It was the memory of the three of them, being punished by their mother to sit down while facing the wall and was told to reflect their mistakes. She had called them one by one after that, talked to each one of them for a moment and hugged them, patting their heads and sang their names. It had a rather nice ring to his ear when he remembered how his mother had called their names. He opened his mouth to try saying it himself, but nothing came out of his parted lips.

The boat swayed a little, and he felt lulled by the steady movement. Number 3's hand felt really warm against his as he let himself drifted slowly into dark oblivion.  _It's going to be okay_ , he thought. He could still remember their names and that was the first thing he would say after he woke up the next day. In the meantime, he felt really tired. He could trust Number 4 to row the boat before he took his place to let his brother had some rest next time he woke up.

 _If_  he ever woke up.

* * *

 **_Word Count_ ** _: 6,309_

_Comment and kudos are always welcome!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Phew, it broke another Word Count record. I crammed everything in this one chapter since I didn’t want to prolong the slavery-drama. Although, I must say, I rather enjoyed writing it. But I had to stop before it got out of hand. Maybe I should try writing the separate fic anyway, with more dramas and other’s POV (did you notice that most of this chapter was told from 5’s POV?). I felt bad that I don’t use much of III’s POV in this one. Honestly, I like III’s character better than V, but the plot forced me to use the latter… But, well, the first draft wasn’t supposed to be like this, it should have been more from 4’s POV all the way. I changed the plot for, at least, once a day before pulling all-nighter to finish the incoherent paragraphs into something adequately readable the night before the (supposedly) scheduled update, but unable to finish in time anyway, hence the late update. It’s getting weirder every time I add new details and forgetting the old ones. Remember the cave with lake mentioned in the previous chapter? Yes, it should have been relevant now, but I had a change of heart and decided to forget it ever existed. It’s still there, but it’s just sitting as one unnecessary details that I wrote to make the whole situation sounded a bit prettier… blah :p I’m talking nonsense now. Next chapter has already been finished long before I finished writing the last three chapters. So, it’s posted in the same day as this since I skipped update last week… XD._


	12. Memories (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... Merag's memories of her past life (while she was in coma after they returned from the ruins), it might help if you've watched episode 108-109, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
> _**P.S.** I hope everyone have read chapter 11 and 12 accordingly in this one... I'm a bit anxious since they only read the 12th chapter in FF (based off the reader's stat), and yes, I know that was prolly my fault for posting two chapters in the same day, can't help it since I skipped update last week... you guys read it right, right? Right? *puppy eyes*_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

Nasch was restless. How could he not, when his country was in the brink of war after he had supposedly signed a peace treaty. Nothing seemed to go according to plan lately. And then he got a report of a suspicious appearance near the border. For all he knew, it could be spy from the opposing country, but his sister, Merag, being a priestess she was, insisted that she would tend to the man first and would send him for interrogation once she was done.

"Have you got anything form that man?" Nasch initiated as soon as she was back to the throne room.

"No, he's still unconscious as of now, and the guards are standing vigil. No need to worry, oniisama," she replied solemnly.

"We shouldn't be taking care of this…" the purple haired king rested his elbow on the armrest, propping his head.

"I know you are stressed out, oniisama, but we need to keep order in this kingdom. We are not the same with those bloodthirsty people," Merag regarded the last sentence with disgust. "Besides, he's resting in the house near the eastern border anyway, so there's no sense of wasting manpower."

"That reminds me, you have to perform the cleansing ritual soon, don't you?"

"That I do. My acolytes are preparing it as we speak."

"You can double the guard, if you feel the need to."

"I don't want to draw too much attention. You should focus on your garrison, oniisama," Merag suggested.

Before Nasch could reply, Durbe entered the room with his men and Merag immediately gave way to the knight by scooting over to the side.

"How's the enemy?" Nasch demanded, looking visibly tensed at his second-in-command's arrival.

"There's still no sign of them, so far. But we're still keeping watch," Durbe replied.

The king sighed softly, knowing that his country wasn't going to be destroyed anytime soon. Their land was surrounded by ocean, so they could spot anything coming from across the sea, lessening the possibility of a sudden ambush. On the other hand, they were at a big disadvantage if the enemy did try to attack them from any direction as their land wasn't all that big to begin with, and they'd be forced to defense if they didn't have enough preparation to push the enemy back as soon as they came.

"Have you decided who you're going to send as our envoy?" Durbe asked, after a few moments passed.

"I'll go there myself, if I have to. We don't know what the enemy is thinking—"

"Which is even more reason not to go near there, not you, at least," the gray haired young man interjected resolutely. "I don't mind you going into the front line. But you, walking straight to the enemy's territory at a time like this is like gift-wrapping ourselves to their front gate. Besides, your job is to give order, not reconciling with the enemy."

Nasch banged the armrest of his throne, evidently angered and raised his voice when he said, "I can't just send people out without knowing what's going to become of them. The worst they could do is to make hostage out of them—"

"I did say we should drop the whole reconciliation idea altogether. They're already too far gone to be talked rationally. We should just focus at strengthening our army and defend ourselves from outside's threat." Again, Durbe cut the king short, his deep voice got even lower and daunting.

As good as the king Nasch was, Durbe always had to be his voice of reason. Everyone in the United Land of Poseidon Ocean loved their king for his bravery and benevolence, but Nasch was also known for his rather brash valor; always putting his safety behind his own men, even if that meant he had to plunge into the battlefield himself, and such action never ceased to fluster his best friend and his right-hand-man. Many times, he had to remind the purple haired king that he wasn't the only one to take the burden; that he had his people ready at his beck and call to sacrifice their life for the sake of their country if he told them to.

"I want to avoid war if possible," uttered Nasch, sighing in defeat.

"I understand your feeling, my friend, but there isn't much we could do in this situation. Besides, we're not the one declaring war first and their main objective in this conflict isn't to gain more lands and all those mundane things, you know that."

Merag watched the exchange with a glum expression. Clearly, they had been discussing the same thing for more than once already and although she shared her brother's sentiment, she had to admit that Durbe did have a point. He was the one who stood by the front line to lead his men, and such, he had more experience making decision under duress without losing his logical side—one thing that Nasch prone to lose grasp once he was on the field. Even when they hadn't started the actual battle, the king himself was already feeling nervous, a sign that they were, indeed, in a very difficult position right now. Both the king and his second-in-command were racking their brain coming for the best solution in their own way, and Merag chose not to interfere and just focused on her role.

The cleansing ritual, as Nasch had mentioned before, would be performed in precisely two days from now, right on the first day of summer's solstice. It was an annual service to make sure the Ocean God nourished and protected their land. The whole ceremony involved her soaking herself in the shrine where the spring of the God resided, chanting prayers for as long as the sun at its highest point in the sky, and lasted for three days straight, up to the midsummer's night.

For the sake of convenience, she usually stayed near the shrine in the duration of the ritual, but her temporary dwelling was now occupied by the mysterious young man she had found wounded and unconscious by the riverbank this afternoon, when she had been out with her acolytes to gather herbs while giving them various lessons about it. She thought he was dead by the look of his injuries, but then scared her girls off when they tried to take a closer look and he groaned, blinking several times, dazed and confused before falling unconscious again.

Merag called the guards promptly and attempted to perform first aid on his visible injuries; a wide nasty gash on his right shoulder and what suspiciously looked like bruised (or maybe even cracked) ribs from the black and purple discoloration on most part of his right torso, but she couldn't make sure as his skin was rather tan to begin with, added with countless scars and dirt and mud all over his body.

As a priestess, she had the ability to manipulate water to ease the pain of the injury and possibly healing it if she knew exactly what kind of wound she was dealing with—though the process took a little more time than she would have preferred as it was her first time tending to a rather serious injuries. She hadn't gotten much training as their country was mostly at peace for the last decade—a fact that she should be relieved at but, at the same time, be deplored at as she couldn't get much chance dealing with various kind of injuries other than twisted ankles or aching limbs. She was so up for the challenge, but she also had a schedule to follow, thus, she was determined to heal him before she started the ceremony—if not completely, she would heal most of it that he could at least move freely and answer her questions.

The following day, she went to the shrine bubbling with excitement. But then, she was greeted by the rather anxious looking guards who were responsible for keeping watch of her patient.

"He was thrashing in his sleep earlier this morning, ma'am, and we didn't know what to do, so we just left him…" one of the guards answered when she asked what they were distressed about.

Yesterday, the mysterious appearance of the young man had caused quite a stir among her girls that she had to handle the situation all by herself. Since none of the acolytes wanted to go near the stranger, she had no choice but to leave him with the guards only. What she had forgotten to do, however, was to give instruction to the men should something happened to her patient.

The blue haired priestess immediately rushed inside and found him in the state she had been dreading about. He was still lying on the bed where he had been put yesterday, but he had been neatly tucked in with clean cloth covering his wounds—completely different than the sight she witnessed just now. The white cloth wrapped around his torso was now disheveled and blotched with darkened blood stain, face contorted in pain, and his breathing labored.

"Bring me some water and clean cloth!" she ordered to no one in particular, and the acolytes, who had been following her, readily set out to grab what she had asked.

Merag touched the young man's forehead and flinched slightly when she found that he was burning with fever. Carefully, she peeled the cloth from his shoulder and almost gagged when she saw the red and yellow ooze seeping out from the apparently infected gash. She peeled the remaining cloth while waiting for her instruments to arrive, frustrated that she had let her inexperience to hurt someone else. She knew infection for such wound was to be expected, but she hadn't expected it to be  _this_  bad.

Once the water and the cloth arrived, she started dabbing the gash with great care as to not cause more pain. He groaned several times, eyes still clenched shut, hands twitching every time the cloth made contact with his wound. She requested for some medicinal herbs and more clean cloth while she was busy cleaning the blood and puss. Once she was done, she set out to bring down his fever; brushing aside blond tresses from his forehead and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

Before applying the herb, Merag attempted to heal the wound with her abilities once more. She had tried it yesterday; she shut her eyes and placed her water-soaked hands on the wound, visualizing the image of ripped tendons and blood vessels being knitted together again with the water. It was a really strenuous work as the wound itself was pretty wide and deep, added with the rather lurid details she had to picture inside her mind, and he was screaming on top of his lungs wasn't helping either. When his scream reached crescendo, she decided to stop the process as she couldn't bear the agonizing wail any longer. The wound definitely looked better; not as deep as it had been but still far from full recovery.

This time, she tried different approach; she placed one hand on his forehead, the other on his wound, and then simultaneously performed the water-healing on both hands. He wasn't screaming, but he still groaned every so often, muttering random, incoherent words, his hands clenched and unclenched on the sheet. It required more concentrations, but it was also easier at the same time since he was more relaxed (though still in pain), making the whole process went rather smoothly. When she was done, she scrutinized her handiwork; the wound was fully closed now, but there was a visible jagged line on the surface of his skin where the ripped flesh met. Another thing she noticed was that he was drenched in sweat again, probably from the strain of the healing process. She wiped the sweat before dressing the wound with crushed herbs and clean cloth, and then used the water again until his breathing evened up and fell back asleep. She was tempted to treat his bruised side as well, but eventually opted against it as she still wasn't sure how to heal broken bones—if it was really broken, of course. Mistreatment could lead to a fatal result and she didn't want to risk it on anyone just for the sake of curiosity.

The water priestess stood up and wobbled a little, realizing that she, too, had overexerted herself with the healing. She definitely needed more training if she wanted to help her brother. One of her girls helped her walking out of the house towards the shrine to check the preparation for the ritual tomorrow. After that, she made her way to the nearest village to see if there were things she could help out with.

Every day, she always spared some times to visit one village each day to make sure that they were properly taken care of. There were times she got to talk with them, or helping them with watering the field, paying respects to the local shrine, or even healing injured villagers—though none of them was as bad as the recent one. She stayed there for as long as she could—usually until sundown—and then she would head back to the castle. Tonight, she would be busy with the ceremony's preparation that she would stay in her temporary house near the shrine.

During the ritual, she wasn't allowed to touch anyone, so she briefed the guards about how to tend to the man's wound (none of her acolytes wanted to do the job). She cleaned and bandaged the wound again that night, and noticed that his side was starting to swell with sickening purple, black, and blue discoloration. If he had another infection again, there wouldn't be much she could do, so she attempted to heal his side—at least until the swollen part deflated.

Merag couldn't sleep well after that; her dream was filled with war and all its horror; wounded soldiers and ruined buildings littered the village, and she was helpless in the middle of it all. She couldn't fight, or even heal their wounds properly. She was saved from the continuation as she was abruptly awakened when she heard ruckus from the next room, where the mysterious man was resting. The sun had peeked a little from behind the horizon, so she decided to climb out of her bed, putting on her robes, and check it out.

The guards gave way when she entered the room, one of them was trying to talk to the young man; the latter's bandages were half done. Apparently, he had woken up when the men were trying to change the cloth and probably panicked seeing he was surrounded by strangers.

"What did you do to me?!" the man shouted, holding his injured side with his left hand and scooted to the far end of the bed. The guard was trying to explain, but he kept telling them to back off.

Merag watched the scene silently for a moment; he looked rather feral when he shouted to the guards, like a cornered animal of some sort. If he kept that up, there might be bloodshed, so she decided to intervene by saying, "He's just trying to change your bandages."

"Who are you?" he spat, voice lacing with suspicion.

"That's supposed to be  _our_  line, you know. It's our land, and you're the stranger in this place," She stated, handling the situation quite calmly, though maintaining her distance so that she wouldn't touch anyone accidentally.

Expressions flashed across the man's face, none of them relaxed. He mumbled something incoherent, still cornered on the bed.

"We can set aside the suspicion for later. If you recover quickly, you can go back to whatever place you came from—after you prove yourself that you're not a threat to this land, of course."

The man visibly flinched at the last sentence and Merag didn't miss the reaction, but held her tongue from asking more question. For one, it was still early in the morning, and it was in everyone's favor that the man recuperated fast so they could decide what to do about him. From the look of it, they might not need to worry about this one in particular, but that was yet to be seen as looks could be deceiving. After a few more coaxing from her, the young man finally calmed down and let the guard bandage his wounds. He was given some water and food, but hadn't touched the latter and was now left on the bedside table.

"Do you have a name?" Merag asked when the guards excused themselves to go back to their post. She still had times before the ritual and was now seated on the stool by the bedside while the young man was half-lying on the bed.

The red-and-blond haired young man was silent for a few moments, looking troubled as if the question was out of his capabilities to answer. "I don't have one," he finally answered.

Merag opened her mouth slightly, surprised. If he said he didn't remember, that was still understandable as the shock from whatever had happened to him might've caused some sort of trauma. But he clearly said he didn't have a name. "You don't?" she repeated.

He shook his head. "None of us does."

"Us?" she hadn't intended to interrogate him, but he was the one bringing that up, so she might as well picked up the flow of the conversation.

"Me, my brothers, and the other slaves too…" he trailed off, suddenly reminded of something.

Tons of questions invaded Merag's mind at the man's answer, but seeing his somber countenance, she decided not to pursue the matter for the time being and directed her question to the initial objective of the conversation. "Well, what do they call you, then?"

He hesitated again before saying, "Number 4…?"

"Okay, Number 4…" she started, feeling rather weird that she had to call someone with numbers. "Where did you come from?"

"I don't even know where this is…" he replied.

"This is the United Land of Poseidon Ocean. Well, one of the lands," she said, leaving out the part that it was the main land. She had to make sure who the man was before letting out more details. "We found you unconscious by the riverbanks. From the footprints we saw in the shore, I believe you've woken up once after you got washed away and went to the forest before collapsing near the river."

"Oh…" was all Number 4 said, bringing up his hand to his right side again. After a moment, he said, "Thank you, I suppose…"

Merag smiled. "You can stay here as long as you need to. And if you need anything, you can tell the guards."

Number 4 didn't answer; he probably didn't even hear her talking as he stared absently at the ceiling above, eyes looking distant. Despite her curiosity, she still had the rituals to perform, so she excused herself from the room to start the preparation before the sun got even higher.

From the brief conversation, she was able to gather some information regarding the young man. He did mention something that indicated he was from another land—as they had no slave system of some sort in here, or even the absurd code naming—and he was injured pretty bad, on top of that. She couldn't help but felt like he really was no threat. There were still a lot of things she wanted to ask as she had never met an outsider that didn't come for business to their land—they were all being taken care of by either Nasch or Durbe—and her interest was piqued greatly now that she had all the chance to herself.

She would ask the lingering questions eventually, but right now, she had to attend to her duty first.

* * *

 **_Word count_ ** _: 3,325_

_Comment and kudos are always welcome!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You see, I haven't started writing the next one, but already halfway through the one after that one… (a.k.a. chapter 14) so, Chapter 13 will probably be delayed too… (I hope not, though…) Reviews are always welcome! Oh, yeah, cookies for whoever able to guess where the 'cleansing ritual' idea came from (ofc it's not mine! Guess!) (p.s. I've recently edited some of the older chapter, just some grammar correction, though… :p. I hope I did it right…)_


	13. Memories (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... Merag's memories of her past life (while she was in coma after they returned from the ruins), it might help if you've watched episode 108-109, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
> _**P.S.** I hope everyone have read chapter 11 and 12 accordingly in this one... I'm a bit anxious since they only read the 12th chapter in FF (based off the reader's stat), and yes, I know that was prolly my fault for posting two chapters in the same day, can't help it since I skipped update last week... you guys read it right, right? Right? *puppy eyes*_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

Merag flinched slightly when she stepped out of the shrine, immediately covered her eyes with her hand. It was already afternoon by the time she came out, but the sun was still high in the sky. She was only there for a few good hours, but she felt like she had been there forever and she still had to do that for the next two days.

The water priestess changed her water soaked robes into a dry one, then proceeded to have her lunch—which restricted to fruits and nuts—before taking a walk around the shrine. Since she wasn't allowed to touch anyone in the duration of the ritual, she had to avoid places with a lot of people in it; a situation that she dreaded a little since that meant she practically couldn't go anywhere, not even to the castle.

After walking for a while, she saw an awkward looking guard standing near a huge tree trunk. From his relieved expression upon seeing her approaching, she could guess what he was doing over there. He gestured towards the tree and she walked around it. Number 4 was on the other side, resting his back against the tree's trunk, his breathing sounded shallow and she wondered if he was asleep.

"Number 4?" she called.

The young man stirred a little and turned his head slightly. Merag noticed that his eyes looked sunk when their eyes met. "Are you okay? You shouldn't move too much. You're still recovering, you know?"

Number 4 nodded slightly, as if moving too much was too hard for him—which might be the case like she had said. "I just don't like that room, the ceiling's too low…"

"I see…" Merag sat down beside him, carefully spreading the skirt of her robe on the grass and maintaining her distance. "I take it, you don't like closed-up, small space?"

"Pretty much."

"May I ask why?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

For a few seconds, Merag was dumbfounded by that question. The young man certainly couldn't be fooled. She wondered if that was his usual reaction, or just a recent development of defense mechanism against strangers.

"No, I never intended to interrogate, honestly… well, we do need to know who you are, but we can talk about it nicely, I mean, I won't force you if you don't want to talk… So, yes and no… it's an interrogation, but I'm not forcing you to answer…" she fumbled for an explanation, trying not to sound too pushy.

Number 4 furrowed his eyebrows. "Is this country in a brink of war or something?"

"Well, kind of…" she paused, realizing something. "Why do you ask?"

"Before I strayed here, my brother was taken away to join the soldier. They said they were going to attack another kingdom or something—"

"Well, I can tell you that's certainly not our country," Merag interjected, looking rather indignant at the insinuation. "We don't declare war unless we're attacked, and we don't have slavery system here."

The young man shrugged. "It's not like I know where I came from anyway… for all I knew, my birthplace and that dig site were in different countries."

"Your birthplace?"

He shrugged again. "It doesn't matter now."

There was silence. It was obvious the young man wasn't comfortable talking about himself, and she had to keep her words. She tried to think of something else to say and finally decided to say, "How's your side?"

"Never been better," he replied sardonically, absently lifting a hand to touch his injured side and grimaced as he did so.

"I'm sorry I couldn't heal it properly… I have never dealt with such injury before…" Merag uttered, looking guilty.

"You shouldn't have done it…" he said in between his ragged breath.

"Wha—" Merag was about to ask what that was about when he preceded.

"I'm a murderer. You can tell your King that and order an execution for me." He pursed his lips and stood up, still holding his side with one hand, and propping his body by holding onto the tree trunk with the other.

Merag, still unable to fully comprehend what the young man had said, stood up too and called the guard to ask for help. When the man was about to offer his hand to Number 4, the latter swatted his hand harshly. "Don't touch me," he hissed, his expression hardened as he started to stagger towards the house, ignoring other guards' sharp gaze at him.

"Shall we tell the King about it?" the guard asked, looking equally confused.

"Nobody tells anyone until I say so," Merag commanded, and then she, too, started to walk towards the house, following the young man, who was still halfway down the way. He was holding his side all the time and stopped every so often to take a breath, a prominent sign that he was anything but 'better'.

"Why won't you let the guard help you? You know you need it," Merag confronted, wasting no time with mundane chitchat.

"Because I'm a threat to this land," he said in mocking tone without even looking at her.

For the second time that day, Merag was dumbstruck. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he wanted them to kill him right now and then. Maybe he did. But, why?

"Why are so keen on dying?" she asked again. This time, he didn't answer and kept walking sluggishly. She followed him until he reached the house and could only watch as he slammed the door close right before her face.

 _Is that how you treat people who have saved you?_  She thought exasperatedly as she walked back to her own room to read one of her texts to fill her time. But she just couldn't stop thinking about the young man's attitude just now. His bandage needed to be changed before he slept tonight, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would also dismiss the guard who was in charge of it.

It was relatively quiet that night as she went on with her reading while enjoying dinner in her room. She was about to go to sleep when a loud thumping echoed from the room besides hers.

 _It's about time_ , she thought dryly, turning away from her bed and made her way to the source of the sound. It was the same scene as she had witnessed that morning, but this time, Number 4 was sitting up on the bed, looking less scared and, instead, looked more like he had been running a good distance with the way he was breathing.

"I said don't touch me…" he rasped. He was still holding his side like he had been earlier that day, while his other arm stretched out like he had just lashed it out. From the way one guard was backing away while rubbing his jaw, he might have hit the poor man who had just been trying to do his job.

"Are we going to do this again?" Merag asked, didn't even try to hide her frustration.

"Shut up," he shot back, his breathing got even heavier. "Just fucking leave me alone."

The blue haired priestess glanced at the young man's bandaged torso, seeing that there was no sign of swelling or blotching, she decided that the bandage didn't need to be changed for now as she didn't feel like arguing with him for the time being and let him have his space. Maybe he would soften up after that. She gestured to the guards to follow her and they filed out of the room.

"The bandage doesn't need to be changed for now, as long as there is no blood. Just leave him be," she said to the guards once they were out of the room.

"Um, Merag-sama… are you sure we don't need to report this to the King?" one guard asked, the one who had accompanied Number 4 earlier that day.

"My brother doesn't need to be burdened with such trifling things," she dismissed the idea firmly. "I'm going to rest for now, if there's anything unusual, tell me first thing in the morning."

Though looking unsure, the guards nodded their acquiescence and returned to their post. Merag then returned to her room and fell immediately asleep. Who would have expected dealing with an ill-tempered, injured person could be this tiring? In another normal circumstance, she would have berated that man and gave him a piece of her mind—but this situation was anything but normal. Who knew what the young man had been through before this?

The first time she had seen the scars on his back, she immediately knew that those were rather new; one to two weeks old at most. The wounds probably hadn't been deep, but it covered most of his back. And then there was also scar across his right cheek. That one looked old enough—presumably more than a decade old. And there was also the gash that was recently healed and the bruised ribs—which was still under recovery. She wondered how many flesh wounds a human body could withstand until it couldn't hold anymore as she had never seen a man died of heavy injuries before.

She went through another fitful sleep again that night and she blamed pre-war anxieties for that. There was no report from the guard, so she spent her morning quietly, then proceeded to start the second day of the ritual. There was still nothing after the ritual and she deliberated herself on asking the guards.

The guards who stood by the young man's room were looking visibly uncomfortable—but that wasn't something new. She was as uncomfortable as they were dealing with him herself, but someone had to do the job. When she asked about her patient, he said, "He was quiet up until now, ma'am. I presume he's asleep now."

"Has he eaten breakfast?"

"The cook has sent the food like you suggested. But we haven't checked if he has eaten it or not."

"What about his lunch?"

"Uh, we haven't delivered it."

"Why?" Merag demanded. She always finished her ritual after the sun had moved away from its highest point, so that meant lunchtime was supposed to be over a few hours ago. The guards were supposed to check on him when they delivered the lunch.

"Actually…" he looked reluctant, but cringed when he saw Merag's glare at him. "Actually, he threw the food away the first time we brought them in, and the cook had prepared another one, which was delivered a few moments later, ma'am. But, after the incident, nobody wants to deliver food to him again."

The blue haired priestess gaped, unable to say anything. It was no secret that no one ever tried to even like the stranger, and said stranger had to make it worse by behaving as such. She walked past the guard into the room. Number 4 was now lying on his side, his injured rib was on top and his back was on her. When she moved closer, she could hear that his breathing was shallow, just like he had been yesterday. Another thing she noticed was the untouched bowl of broth and a glass of water by the bedside and wondered if he hadn't woken up since his little tantrum that morning. Maybe she should ask for another warm broth and one of the guards to come over, wake him up, and force feed him. She didn't know what he was on about, but he had to eat something, or his condition would only worsen.

Merag was about to lift the bowl from the table when she noticed another thing. Number 4's hand was clutching his side, and he was sweating profusely. With horror, she realized that he wasn't sleeping. There wasn't any blood visible but his side had obviously swelled again from under the cloth. She called a guard and asked for his assistance to unravel his bandage as well as bringing down his fever. The guard tried to peel his hand from his side, but the young man wouldn't budge.

"No…" he slurred, clutching his side even tighter.

The water priestess called another guard to hold the man down while the other would unravel the bandage. She would've done it herself if she wasn't in the middle of the ritual. Number 4 was proved to be too stubborn, even in his half-conscious, delirious state. When they had finally managed to tore the cloth open, she could see the swelling had become worse than the day before. The guards wiped the sweat and changed his bandages as instructed by her, then attempted to down some water into the young man's throat. The red haired young man swallowed a few sips and Merag took it as a good sign. She ordered for another warm broth and told the guard to make him swallow it too. This time, it didn't go as planned as the young man immediately choked even before he could swallow and coughed it out along with some blood.

Merag was flustered. She knew he hadn't eaten anything since he was found, but at least he had been able drink some water. She had thought he hadn't eaten the food he had been given yesterday because he hadn't felt like eating—a normal reaction from someone who was recovering from a rather serious injury, which was why she had ordered for something easy to swallow. If he wasn't able to swallow the simplest dish, how would he eat, then? And now, this.

Inflammation in one's stomach after not eating for several consecutive days was to be expected, but she had to make sure if that was actually the cause. For all she knew, his (apparently) broken ribs might have punctured his internal organs, including his lungs that it finally collapsed. She had to check it to make sure, but how? Even if she could, how would she heal it? She wasn't allowed to touch anyone now. If she waited until the ritual was finished, it might have been too late then.

What if it was Nasch injured? What if it was the villagers injured?

The question dawned upon her like deadweight, realizing how dire the situation right now. Frustrated, she stomped out of the room, headed to the shrine and grabbed a wooden bucket piled near its entrance. Some of her acolytes called her, sounding concerned, but she didn't stop.

 _If this is really spring of the God, help me out here_ , she thought, scooping the water with the bucket then rushed out of the shrine straight back to the house. Number 4 was still coughing up blood, and one of the guards was trying to hold him down, while the other wiped the blood.

"Stand down, you two," Merag commanded and the guards almost jumped in surprise upon seeing her right behind them. They gave way and she immediately kneeled by the bedside, soaked her hands with the water she brought and placed one hand on the swelling side. If she could use water to knit wound, she should be able to use it to look for internal damage by seeping into one's skin. She had to be that water.

Even as she determined to do so, it wasn't as easy as it sounded. He was jolted when her hand made contact with his skin, eyes opened slightly, looking wet and glazed while his parted lips let out groaning sound.

"Please… please…" she pushed harder, which only made him groaned even louder. "I'm sorry… please…"

 _It's happening again…_  she dreaded. He was in pain, and there was nothing she could do. She still hadn't figured out how to 'be the water' and tried to ease his pain by putting her other hand on his forehead. It was then that she finally knew how, right when her hand landed on his forehead. She felt something tugged at her navel and the next thing she knew, she was being pulled into darkness.

* * *

 ** _Word Count_ ** _: 2,666_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ahem, so… I actually intended to cover the whole thing in one long chapter, but then the transition between scenes may be a bit confusing for some (hell, I was confused myself), so I decided to split the chapter. So, yeah, the half-written chapter 14 is now being moved back to chapter 15… maybe… if I don't split chapter again, that is… ahem…_


	14. Memories (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... Merag's memories of her past life (while she was in coma after they returned from the ruins), it might help if you've watched episode 108-109, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

 There was blood all over the seat, dripping slowly from a wounded side of a man leaning to a boat's bow. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite put her fingers into it. The moonlight glinted on his long silver hair, framing his face like a silky veil, eyelids drooping lazily over his deep blue orbs. His lips moved, saying something inaudible and he lifted a hand—which was immediately being grasped by another hand.

"I'm sorry…"

She recognized the voice as Number 4's that she whipped her head to see if he was also around, but, instead, saw a sobbing younger boy with curly pink hair and bloodshot eyes.

"Niisama…" the boy croaked and she felt the urge to envelop him in a tight embrace, stroke his back and sing a lullaby to ease whatever it was that had made him cry. But her body didn't seem to comply with her brain.

"Stop crying!" Number 4's voice snapped.

 _Where is he?_  She tried to look around again, but this time, her head wouldn't move. The boy covered his mouth with a hand, trying to hold back his sob, but only resulting in more tears leaked out from his verdant orbs.

"What are we going to do now?" the boy asked again, still with croaked voice.

There was no answer, and she could feel her head turned slowly towards the silver haired man again—who was now sleeping peacefully. Then she realized that she was holding the man's hand and was about to let go when she saw the hand wasn't even hers. It was a bit bigger, its skin was a lot tanner and calloused, just like Nasch's and other guards' hand after a long hour of sword practice.

"He's not breathing anymore. What do you want me to do?" Number 4's voice spat, not sounding the least bit sympathetic, despite his slightly trembling hand.

The boy cried harder and she would have berated Number 4 for being insensitive if she wasn't busy figuring out what had happened to her. She could feel her hand shifted from the cold hand and let it go. She (not actually her, of course, but she felt like she was doing it) stood up, making the boat swayed a little, and grabbed the silver-haired man's shoulder. Her hands flinched when her skin made contact with the cold skin and again, she would have pulled it back if she could control her action. But, as it stood, she couldn't.

"Hey, stop crying! Help me over here!" Number 4 snapped again, and only then she realized that she moved her lips in the exact shape of those words.

She wasn't there—not exactly. She was Number 4 herself.

Why was she Number 4? Where was she now? How had she ended up here?

The last thing she remembered was that she had been trying to check Number 4's internal injuries with her water, then he had started screaming that she had to use her healing ability to ease the pain, and the next thing she knew, she was already there with those two strangers. With the way the boy called the other two, they might be Number 4's brothers—as he had mentioned before.

Number 4 pushed the silver-haired man's body over the edge of the boat, and the pink haired boy gasped. "What are you doing, niisama?"

"He's only going to be a burden on here," Number 4 said coldly, kept pushing the body until it plunged into the water.

"But—" the pink-haired boy couldn't finish his sentence as he watched the scene in horror. He reached out into the water but couldn't make it in time as the body disappeared into the dark depth.

She watched it too, through Number 4's eyes, her eyes felt hot, but she wasn't sure if it was really her eyes or Number 4's—maybe them both. When Number 4 returned to his seat, the night sky scene suddenly melted before her eyes and she, once again, plunged into darkness.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on her side on a hard mattress inside a dark, spacious building with high ceiling and rattling sound of raindrops against thin metal sheet that—apparently—made up its roof.

"The guards said the ship's coming tomorrow," Number 4 said.

"What? We're talking again now?" another voice replied, which was coming from someone lying across his mattress—the silver-haired man.

Number 4 shrugged. "Well, if it's really coming tomorrow, we have to think of something fast."

"How many times should I tell you to stop thinking about it?"

"And how many times should I tell you that I don't fucking care?" Number 4 retorted. "If we're going to borrow it, we have to make an elaborate plan."

"You're going to get us killed…"

"Nobody forces you to come."

"You just said 'we'."

"Assuming you'd come with me. If not, then, I'll just think about it myself."

"You've seen what happened to those guys who tried to escape—"

"No, I don't. None of us does. They just disappeared, remember?"

The silver haired man growled in frustration. "Whatever, that's not the point. What I know is that we won't be able to make it outside. So, in short, we're going to be dead whatever the outcome."

"You said something like that when you tried to scare me out about lashing punishment. I'm still alive after hundreds of it, see."

Vaguely, she could make out the silver-haired man's lips stretched into a grim smile. "I'd prefer you not pushing it. Who knows when your luck has run out?"

That was the last thing she heard before she felt her (Number 4's) eyelids felt too heavy that she slowly drifted off—again. She was getting tired of the rapidly changing scene, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was inside Number 4's head right now, and she'd be there for a few more moments before she could figure out how to control her water-scanning abilities properly.

"Get up, wimp!"

Number 4 snapped his head to the direction of the shout and there was the pink-haired boy again, looking younger this time—five to seven years old at least—body half-lying on the ground, one elbow propped his body. A burly man was walking towards him, one arm lifted high, holding what appeared to be a whip.

"Hey! Lay off him!" Number 4 shouted back, rushing to his brother's side.

The burly man's attention was now directed to Number 4, who was now standing between his brother and the man. "Pick someone your own size, coward."

Without warning, the man whipped Number 4 across his chest, which resulted in the latter doubled over and the next second, all hell broke loose. The pink-haired boy screamed and started to cry, the silver-haired young man—who also looked younger—came rushing to their direction, trying to stop the guard, while other people—children and young adults—scattered away from the ensuing chaos.

"You want to mess around? I'll give you mess!" Number 4 yelled, scrambling back to his feet and started to charge ahead.

"Stop! 4!" the silver haired young man tried to hold his brother back, but he, instead, received an elbow to his ribs and staggered back a few steps.

Number 4 tackled the guard, jumped on top of him and started throwing punches while the silver haired young man tried to wrench him away to no avail. When the other burly men came, he could only watch as they dragged a cursing, flailing Number 4 away.

Then everything blurred again.

It felt warm this time. She could hear birds singing and when she opened her eyes, she was greeted by soft sunlight peeking through the leaves and rows of trees spread before her. She knew this scenery. This was the forest near the shrine, and it was when Number 4 had been sitting beside a tree the day before. Her right side felt like it was on fire and she wondered how Number 4 even managed to move with such pain searing half his body. Her breathing was shallow—just like Number 4 had been too—as she was Number 4 right now.

"You should've stayed in the site," a voice echoed in her ear—a man's voice—but Number 4 stayed still in his place.

"Shut up," he said, grimacing in pain.

"You've brought us to our untimely death while you live on, stranded to a peaceful country, tended by such beauty," the voice said again, but it didn't sound like it was coming from anywhere and there was no one in sight either.

"What beauty? Those brainless, burly men, you mean?" Number 4 kept replying—more like talking to himself, from the looks of it.

"You don't deserve it."

"You've caused enough trouble while we were in the village and in the site. And then you have to pull the ultimate stunt just to get us killed. You don't deserve to be here."

"You know it's entirely your fault."

"I KNOW THAT! SHUT UP!" he snapped, lashing out a hand and knocked something from the bedside table. It broke into many pieces when it landed on the floor with noisy clatter. "GET OUT OF HERE!"

From his glazed sight, she could see a hazy figure of someone cringed and scampered out of the room. She didn't even realize she was now in Number 4's room until she saw the broken pieces of the bowl and glass not too far away from where she was. Number 4 leaned back to the bed, shifting to his side and holding his injured ribs. He could feel it started to swell again and the heat began spreading throughout his body—which made his hand clutching even tighter, sending new waves of pain.

 _It's not enough_ … he thought, digging his fingers deeper into his flesh while biting his lips so that he wouldn't let out a sound.

 _Stop… please stop…_  she wanted to scream as the pain becoming more unbearable.  _You're only making it worse…_

But that was kind of the idea, wasn't it? To torture himself to death so that he could join his brothers.

"It's not your fault…" she whimpered—this time, it was really slipping out of her lips. "It's not your fault…" she could feel hot tears cascading down her cheeks as she tried to look for the source of his pain inside his swelling side. She went through fragments after fragments of broken bones sticking out everywhere in his insides and she gathered those fragments to be put together again then patched the injured organs as much as she could. He nearly screamed during that time but she managed to ease his pain.

But nothing would ever be easy for him now, would it?

She locked herself in her room after that, thinking about the rituals. Only two guards had witnessed that scene and they had both sworn themselves to secrecy, but would it still be okay to proceed with it? She had never thought why she wasn't allowed to touch people during the rituals, but now she started to ponder about it. It wasn't as if other people were 'unclean' and that she had to keep herself 'clean' during the rituals, right? It was the most probable explanation she could think of and when she thought about it now, it sounded rather absurd. Who had made such rules in the first place anyway?

On the other hand, she felt rather weird that she had just figured out about her abilities now. Her late mentor had never mentioned about it, but considering how peaceful her country had been, it was probably a long lost art. She might have done it unconsciously before, but scanning for light injury was definitely different than the one she had just experienced. It wasn't pretty, it was gruesome, and most of all, she could channel her mind with those she healed and got to feel the pain too.

Was she really up for the job?

The question haunted her sleep that night, as well as remnants of memories she had witnessed inside Number 4's head.

He was in pain again—his back was sore all over. He walked slowly, shoulders hunched, stopping every so often to let the occasional searing pain subsided before continuing his step. The guards had said he wouldn't get any meal for the rest of this day, and he hadn't even eaten anything since last night. This was going to be a very long day, he thought. He didn't feel like working today but of course they wouldn't let him sleep through the day as if nothing had ever happened. They liked seeing those who had just gotten punished struggling in their work the next day, after all.

What a twisted sense of humor, Number 4 thought grimly.

When he finally reached the nearest cave, people were already working. Some of them—who had probably witnessed or heard the scene he had caused yesterday—glanced at him and he ignored them. He hadn't gotten to see his brothers until lunchtime, when the other slaves were gathered to receive their share and he opted to stay in the cave and massaging his shoulder. It was hard enough going through the morning with empty stomach; he wouldn't let himself look like a fool watching those people eat. He was murmuring curses to the guards under his breath when he heard footsteps echoed and was about to hide when a familiar voice called.

"Niisama!"

Number 3 crashed into him and hugged him tightly. "We were so worried about you!"

"3… you're hurting my back…" Number 4 said hoarsely.

"Oh, I'm sorry, niisama!" the pink-haired boy released his brother, looking concerned. "Are you hurt somewhere?"

"Well, duh," he replied harshly.

"Don't do that again, 4," Number 5 scolded, crouched beside Number 4 to get better look of his back from under his tunic.

"Yeah, sure. Next time I see you get lashed, I'll just sit back and watch. Just you," Number 4 retorted.

Number 3 looked ashamed and frowned. "I'm sorry about yesterday. That was my fault—"

"If you two came here just to berate and apologize, suck it up. It won't fill my stomach anyway," Number 4 interjected.

"Oh, yes, here, niisama." Number 3 fished something out of his tunic and handed it to his brother. "It's a little leftover from our breakfast."

It was small bundle, no bigger than his fist, and it was still wrapped in a cloth, but he could feel his mouth started to water. His stomach growled again and before he realized it, he snatched the bundle from his brother's hand and ripped it open.

"We heard the punished doesn't get to eat for a full day after the punishment," Number 5 explained, sitting down and opened another bundle, which also followed suit by Number 3.

Number 4 didn't respond as he had his mouth full with a half of dry bread.

"You can have this, niisama" Number 3 said, offering a big chunk of a softer bread.

The red-and-blond haired boy was about to reach out and took the bread when he saw that their lunch only consisted of said bread and a few nuts. He pulled back his hand and said, "No, you eat it. We don't want you collapsing again. Do we?"

The pink hared little boy blushed and insisted, "But… you haven't eaten anything since last night, right? I'll be fine even if I skip lunch."

"Here, you can have mine," Number 5 offered his.

"Ha, and here I thought you never cared," Number 4 scoffed—which received a sharp glare from the silver haired young man—and shoved the bread back to his brother. "No, thanks. I'll be fine with this."

"At least eat this, niisama…" Number 3 halved his bread and offered again.

Number 4 sighed in defeat and received the bread in the end. "Fine, okay, don't say I didn't refuse." He ripped it in half again and shoved it straight to his little brother's mouth.

Number 3 tried to say something but was forced to chew the bread and swallow it before he could do so. Number 4 only laughed and ate the other half. Number 5 halved his bread too and hand one half to his brother, who received it without protest.

"I heard some interesting things when I was in the torture chamber," Number 4 started and turned his head to his brothers, but was surprised when he saw them melted.  _Melted_. He stretched out a hand, wanting to check if he saw things right. But before his hand could land on anything, it was met with empty air.

"3! 5!"

"You're fine! Shush… don't move too much," a girl's voice hissed.

He was slowly being pushed back to a soft surface by a lithe arm, while the other arm propped the back of his neck. He intended to sit back up and look around, but he was still too dazed and confused to move.

"Where—" he was about to ask when he choked on his own breathing.

"Sssh… calm down, please…" the girl said again. Then he could feel something being pushed in between his lips and a fresh liquid trickled on his tongue. He downed it, then the arm under his neck slowly pulled back, laying his head on the soft surface.

"Where're my brothers?" he asked, turning his head to the side. His sight was a blur, but he could make out an indistinct shape of a girl with blue hair covered in white cloth over her head. It wavered a little, then placed a hand over his forehead.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked back.

He shook his head slightly and repeated, "Where're my brothers?"

Silent for a moment. In any other given time, he would have demanded immediate answer if he wasn't feeling dizzy himself. He focused all of his energy to bring back his consciousness. Slowly, his sight was getting clearer until he could see the girl's face. She was frowning, looking troubled, and said, "You don't remember?"

He was about to demand explanation when everything came crashing back to his mind—like he was being hit by a solid object in the head. His brothers were dead, he was wounded and stranded in the land of strangers, and he was ready to die then. So, why was he still here?

"We almost lost you yesterday…" the girl said, eyebrow furrowing deeper.

Number 4 sat up, he could still feel a small tinge of pain in his right side, but it was nothing compared to the last time he had been awake. He groped it, squeezed it, and even hit it. It didn't hurt at all. He hung his head low, still trying to comprehend what had happened to him.

"I'm glad it worked… I was really afraid it was already too late or what…" she jabbered on but Number 4 didn't listen anymore.

It didn't feel right to him. He wasn't supposed to feel better—despite his aching stomach. He was supposed to be in pain. He was supposed to suffer and die miserably like any wretched human being who had killed his own brothers by his own stupidity. He wasn't even supposed to lie on such a comfortable surface while his brothers spent their eternity on the sea floor or whatever place nature had condemned them. They hadn't done anything wrong to deserve that.

"Here, I actually came here to deliver this," the girl was still talking, holding something out to him—which turned out to be a bowl of warm soup. "You should eat something if you want to get better—" she couldn't finish her sentence as the next second, the bowl went flying from her hands and fell on the floor in multiple pieces.

"The hell are you talking about, woman?" he growled, his expression was a mixture of fury, fear, and confusion. "I never asked for your self-righteous pity. Leave me alo—"

This time, it was his turn to be unable to finish his sentence as her palm connected with his cheek. He was dumbfounded for a split second and was about to snap when she preceded him.

"Is that how you treat your brothers?!" she said, raising her voice.

Number 4 was caught off guard at the mention of his brother, but he immediately regained his pride and talked back, "You don't even know my brothers—"

"I know! I've seen them! They would've cried if they saw you being this kind of an ingrate!"

"I never wanted to be saved! What should I be thanking for? Prolonging this one hell of an ingrate life?!"

"If I'm what you call self-righteous, then you're a self-centered, insufferable martyr-wannabe!"

The red-and-blond haired young man laughed. "That's a nice word; martyr. Yes, I'm a martyr to my own stupidity." Then, he added after a few seconds, "And don't talk as if you know my brothers!"

Silent again. Both of them were glaring dagger at each other, and if look could kill, they would both be drop dead this instant. Merag rarely raised her voice, even if she got angry. But this young man clearly had brought out the worst of her. She was tired after three days straight performing the rituals and also tending to his wound, not to mention the stress of thinking the upcoming war and the possibility that her ritual might have failed because she had broken the law. She still performed the third day of the ritual, but she wasn't sure if that was still valid or not. And then she had to deal with even more ill-tempered someone whom she had supposedly saved.

After a few minutes of glaring contest, Merag stalked out of the room with a huff and Number 4 laid his body back down on the bed. His stomach was still aching as he hadn't eaten anything for only God-knew-how-long, but he couldn't care less about it. He was planning to die anyway. The problem was, he wasn't sure how, now that his injuries were mostly healed. Would die of starvation be painful? It wasn't as if other dying methods were any less painful, but he was running out of options now.

Number 4 was still mulling over his options when Merag walked back into the room, carrying another bowl of soup. As he was really hungry now, the tasty smell of the soup immediately reached his sensitive nose that he sat back up with a jolt.

"I'm not eating that."

"I'm giving you options; you eat it yourself, or I'll call the guards to hold you down while I shove this down your throat. Your pick," she said, and then immediately decided to add, "And don't even think about throwing this away once you set hands on it. We still have a cauldron full of this thing and I'll keep bringing you a new one until you swallow some."

The red-and-blonde haired young man scoffed. "Fine, force feed me all you like. I might get lucky and choked on that and then I'll get my martyrdom."

"Oh, I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you. Guards!" she shouted at the end of her sentence and almost instantly, two guards came stumbling in, looking awkward—like they had been told what to do beforehand but still unsure how. "You hold his limbs, and you keep his mouth open."

Before Number 4 could protest, the guards were already on him. He tried moving around, but with barely any energy left, there wasn't much he could do. He couldn't even spit curses as his mouth was being pinched open and the girl was shoving a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.

The discomfort was obvious but what terrified him the most was the humiliation. He had thought the girl was just bluffing, that she wouldn't use such brash means to actually feed him. He stood corrected. The guard's hand loosened when he had to—although reluctantly—swallow the liquid and used the opportunity to shout, "Fine!"

"What is?" Merag raised an eyebrow.

"I'll eat the thing myself! Just tell them to stay the hell off me!" he snapped, receiving Merag's smug grin in response.

"You heard him. Thanks for the hard work, gentlemen," she said, gesturing to the guards to leave them.

Once the guards were outside, she sat on the stool by the bedside, handing him the bowl she had been holding and waited for him to eat.

"What are you doing?" he asked, didn't even try to hide his irritation.

"Making sure you eat the whole thing, of course," she replied casually. "Just ignore me and start eating."

Number 4 snorted derisively. "Yeah, sure, like one could easily ignore such a repulsive existence like you." He lifted the spoon and started eating the rather tasty soup—though he had no plan on admitting that.

"I must say you're quite well-spoken for someone who once worked as slave," Merag commented, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

"What do you prefer, then? Me screaming cuss words every second or something?"

"And also quick to back talk…" she added. "Come to think of it, you look a lot like your brother, the silver-haired one. But I don't think the personality—"

The red-and-blond haired young man stopped short on her word, eyebrows furrowing. "What did you say?"

Merag froze when she realized that she had actually said that out loud. Indeed, she had never intended to hide the fact the she had unintentionally seen his memories, but she hadn't prepared herself to actually admit it just yet. It was just something that she had been wondering lately and since she had slipped up anyway, she might as well use the opportunity to explain, "Oh, well… actually, it's not a proud thing I have to admit that while I was trying to heal you, I might've looked a bit too deep inside your mind…"

"You what?"

"Peeked into your memories…? I didn't know I could do that myself. Honest. I was just trying to look for your internal injuries."

Number 4's expression turned grave and Merag couldn't decide if he was angry or just deep in thought. He returned to eating his meal in silence while she felt like she shouldn't say anything until he did.

"Just a little correction, though," he finally spoke after a few moments of silence, "I've never seen my brother—the older one—cried before. And I don't think he could."

"Huh?" Merag was confused at first, then remembered their banter not too long ago.

"So, no. He wouldn't cry, even if I acted like an uncivilized monkey. My little brother might, though."

"Oh…" was all she managed to say. Silent again, and before the air turned awkward, Merag decided to continue on with the conversation. "What about you? Have you ever cried before?" and immediately regretted asking such a stupid question.

She didn't expect him to answer that she was surprised when he actually said, "I don't remember, though my brother claimed that I have, several times. I don't believe him sometimes."

Merag chuckled hearing it, which received Number 4's weird glance. "I'm sorry, I just remembered that my brother used to do that too when we were little, saying that I cried in my sleep because I was afraid of the ghost in the cellar like the servants had told us once. I said I didn't believe him since my eyes would be sore if I really cried, and he taunted me until I actually cried in the end."

Number 4's expression turned even graver this time. He put down the spoon and downed the rest of his soup straight from the bowl. "Here, all clean. Now leave me alone."

"Do you want me to bring some more?" Merag asked as she took the bowl from him.

"Fuck off." He lied back down, his back was on her.

The sudden change of attitude had thrown her off since it happened when she had just gotten comfortable talking with him. "I'm sorry… did I say something that offended you?"

For the umpteenth time that day, Number 4 sat back up with irritation. "I'm sorry, let me rephrase it," he paused to take a breath, trying to prevent himself from raising his voice—since he knew how the girl would react if he behaved like his usual self. "I'd really appreciate if you could leave me alone and get some rest. My head feels like pounding."

Merag blinked several times, unsure of what she had just heard as if he had spoken different language. It might as well be the case since Number 4 saying something polite was really beyond her imagination. He had already back to his lying position again when she finally managed to process what he had said.

"Oh, okay, then. Have a nice sleep," she said, gathering the empty bowl and glass and quietly made her way out of the room, head brimming with curiosity at what would the young man show to surprise her next time she visited.

* * *

  ** _Word Count_ ** _: 4,872_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I once said the past-AU fic might be 10,000 words at most, didn't I? But if you sum up the word count from "Memories (1)" to "Memories (5)", it's been a little over 20K and still counting. Eheh XD. I guess I got carried away… by a lot… I have so much fun writing this that I don't really care if I get many readers or not. This is too fun! Anyway, comments and kudos are always welcome, *smooch*_


	15. Memories (6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... Merag's memories of her past life (while she was in coma after they returned from the ruins), it might help if you've watched episode 108-109, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

Merag took her time walking back to the castle. For one, it was already dusk and she had to mind her step on the rather rocky path heading towards the castle. It had been three days since the last time she had been there and she was anxious to come back. Had there been ambush during her absence? Was her brother okay? Was everyone okay? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. The worry itself was nerve-wracking that it took her longer to reach the castle with her occasional attempt to distract herself from the impending revelation by stopping to initiate a talk whenever she passed by a villager—blurting out anything that came to her mind, mostly asking mundane questions about their day. By the time she reached the castle, she finally relaxed a little after hearing no bad news from any one of them.

She had intended to go straight to the throne room to greet her brother, but then stopped when she spotted him before she walked up the flight of stairs leading to the front parlor. Nasch was talking to his soldiers in front of the castle's stairwell—which was unusual. They always talked in the throne room, or in the training grounds—where there would be more of blade exchange rather than words. Seeing their serious countenance, the doubt started to tighten the knot in her stomach again as she approached.

"I'm home, oniisama," she announced, trying to hide her anxiety from showing. All of their attention turned to her, and they seemed visibly relaxed at that—which, in turn, made her confused.

"Welcome back. How was the ritual?" Nasch immediately asked

"The ritual went smoothly and there's nothing in particular I deem necessary to report, oniisama," she answered promptly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, we just returned here too."

"Returned from where?" she asked, noticing that the horses were still flocking in the yard besides the castle.

"We got an ambush in the southern border earlier today, but we managed to drive them away before they gave us any significant damage."

Merag gasped and grabbed her brother by his shoulder. "Ambush? Are we okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just said we're okay. Calm down, will you?"

"Is there anything I could help with? I can heal the wounded, if any…" she offered.

"No, it wasn't even a full scale battle, thankfully. But we need to talk." Nasch gestured to the guards to leave and started to make his way inside the throne room while Durbe and Merag followed.

Once they were inside, the purple haired King stopped in the middle of the room and turned to the other two. "What about the man?" Nasch finally asked.

"He has recovered, as of now, and I have questioned him. Apparently, he was a slave from where he came from, but he said he doesn't know where exactly," Merag answered curtly.

"Has he done something suspicious?"

"Other than frightening my girls and irritating the guards? I don't think so," she answered, laughing a little at the end of her sentence. But Nasch didn't laugh along with her, and looked rather serious.

"What do you think of him?"

"I think he's no threat to this land, if he was telling the truth, of course," she said, didn't mention that she knew that for a fact that he was no spy—for she had seen the man's memories with her own eyes. But that would lead to another question, and she didn't feel like explaining things she hadn't understood quite enough.

The purple haired King turned to his second-in-command by his side and asked, "What do you think we should do about him?"

"Since we can't return him, we may use him as our manpower. But nothing fancy. I don't think we should let him near the castle. Maybe he could help out in the village?" Durbe suggested.

"I think that's a good idea, Durbe," Merag agreed. Then she remembered something. "Is that alright, oniisama?"

"Well, as long as I don't have to worry about half-baked attempt of other countries trying to take advantage of our unease…" Nasch put a hand on his waist and massaged the bridge of his nose with the other one. "They weren't even that strong, but still troublesome to deal with."

"There were several attempt of spying from some other countries, and one of them actually did ambush us—the one that happened today. But none has done significant damage to our kingdom, yet," Durbe elaborated at Merag's curious stare, face looking stern.

"Which is why we shouldn't let any stranger near the castle," Nasch repeated, emphasizing the matter.

"I understand. If there's anything I could help with, please tell me immediately, oniisama, Durbe." Merag nodded slightly. "I will return to my daily tasks from tomorrow on. And I shall check on the man myself. I'm responsible for his capture, after all."

"Please be careful." Was all Nasch said as he started to walk with Durbe towards the other room she recognized as the one they usually used to discuss battle plan.

As she had nothing else to do for the rest of the day, she decided to go back to her room. Although her brother had said that there was nothing to worry about for the time being, she still felt nagged by the fact that nobody informed her about the ambush. Nasch did tell the guards specifically not to leave their post without order, so words about what was happening on the other side couldn't travel that fast to other areas but to the King himself. But she had kind of wished that she was also involved in the war business as she believed that her healing abilities might come in handy—especially with her newfound ability. She hadn't told her brother about it and planned to do so when she understood completely about how it worked.

Would she be able to master it before the actual war started? Another question to disturb her already restless night.

Morning came, as usual, presenting the sun to illuminate the world like there hadn't been anything wrong the day before. As she had mentioned before, she went on with her usual tasks. Her morning routine included teaching her acolytes the art of healing in the castle's shrine, then checking the castle's reservoir and food supply. After lunch, she visited the Shrine of the Water God to pay her daily respect, as well as checking on Number 4.

She had expected him to be sulking inside his room, wallowing in his misery, but she stood corrected. The young man held up to his reputation of causing her surprise in her next visit. He was clashing wooden sticks with other guards in the training ground near the shrine—a way for some guards to channel their boredom—while the other watched and cheered. They looked like they were having fun, so she presumed that this wasn't one of his stunts of causing trouble.

The water priestess approached one of the guards standing by the house and said, "I believe I need some explanation regarding that." She pointed out to the crowd.

"Ah, good afternoon, Merag-sama. And yes, I was surprised myself when I witnessed it. But the young man has saved a young girl from falling off a tree when he was wandering in the forest this morning."

"What is a little girl doing on a tree in the morning anyway?"

"Oh, she's Carina, the nut picker. She usually harvests the nuts from the trees around here with her brother. But since he joined the army, she had to do it herself this time around," he explained, gazing at the crowd, shaking his head. "If you've seen the young man, one must say he's really good at calming the girl down. Oh, there she is."

Merag turned her head to the direction the guard pointed and saw a little girl who watched the sparring among the guards—which looked rather out of place.

"Has her brother been informed?"

"We're still trying to find him. He's probably stationed in the other island."

"Thank you, and keep looking," she said before walking towards the crowd. The sparring was finished when she got closer, and the little girl rushed to Number 4, who lifted her like she was actually his sister. Some other guard poked at him at and teased the little girl—who looked like she was enjoying the attention.

Of all things she had ever imagined, such scene would have been the last in her list.

The exchange lasted for a few moments before their attention was caught by someone calling the girl's name. The little girl squealed delightfully and squirmed in Number 4's hold, jumped down and ran towards her brother who just arrived there. The brother carried the girl on his shoulder and walked towards Number 4, saying something. They were cut short when they realized that she was there, too, although a good distance away. She smiled at them and started to make her way towards the crowd—who quieted down as she got closer.

"I've heard about what happened this morning, good work, Number 4," she said to the red-haired young man, then turned her head to the little girl and her brother. "I should ask the King to transfer you to the post near your house, so you can keep an eye on your sister while attending to you duty."

"Oh, there's no need to, ma'am. I've told her to stay in the house and ask the neighbor for help if she needs anything. I guess, she wouldn't just listen…" the brother explained, which made his sister blushed.

"I insist. I know how hard it is to be separated from your only family."

"If that's what you say, ma'am," the brother said, squeezing his sister's hand.

"Number 4, do you mind going back to the house? I have to check your wounds again," Merag said. Number 4 shot her a questioning looks, but said nothing and just nodded. "All of you, please return to your post. But you're excused for today until further notice from the King himself." She regarded the last sentence for the siblings.

"Thank you, Merag-sama," the brother said before leaving with the other guards.

When there were only two of them left, she started walking towards the forest, followed by a confused Number 4. "You said you need to check my wounds."

"Your wounds are all healed. That's just an excuse to get you alone, Mr. Popular," she replied, not stopping her steps. "Come, walk with me."

"I didn't do anything. She almost broke my neck falling like that, such stupid girl," Number 4 grumbled.

"Really? Because the guard told me you were the one who calmed her down."

"Well, what am I supposed to do with a baby who was holding out both hands and started crying? Slap it away?"

Merag laughed, imagining Number 4's flustered face at the time of the incident. "But you've done a really good job. And now they like you."

Number 4 grumbled again, and she only laughed at his attempt to cover his embarrassment. The two of them kept walking until they reached the side of the shrine. She gazed at the shore, enjoying the salty breeze while Number 4 looked at her as if she was doing something weird but said nothing—maybe it did look weird to him.

"How are you feeling?" Merag asked after a few moments, when they both had sat down on the grass. Number 4 made himself comfortable by lying on his back, both arms folded behind his head.

He grimaced at the question, as if he was in pain, and said, "Never been worse."

"Why did you say that?" Merag frowned.

"You ask me how I am doing, and I answered," replied Number 4, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"I mean, do you have to be sarcastic, or have you always been like that?"

"It sounds like that to you, huh?"

"How is it supposed to sound like?"

"Exactly what I said. I've never felt this worse since they kidnapped me and my brothers to the slavery."

At that, Merag clamped down, didn't want to further soil the suddenly gloom atmosphere. Last time she had mentioned something about his past, he had avoided the subject rather harshly—even though it had been unintentional, and he hadn't initially reacted like that. But this time, she knew that this was a rather sensitive topic she had to tread with great care.

"Do you miss your brother?" she asked carefully.

Number 4 scoffed. "Miss them? Ma'am, I'd even trade place with them so that they could be here now. I don't deserve any of this."

The blue haired priestess frowned again, but this time for an entirely different reason. "Ma'am?"

"That's what they call you, right? Those villagers and the guards."

"I have a name you know? It's Merag."

"So?"

"Try calling it," she said, then decided to add after a few seconds passed, "Without honorific, since you're not originally residents of this land. So, the hierarchy doesn't apply on you."

"No, it's still not fair."

"What is?"

"I get to call you by name, but you don't."

"It's not my fault you don't have one. Come on. Try calling it. I have never been called by name except by my brother and parents."

Number 4 quirked an eyebrow. "Must be hard being famous, huh?"

She punched him playfully in the shoulder, all awkwardness evaporated. "I believe you have outshined me by your heroic deed this morning, Mr. Popular. So I'm a commoner now."

"Won't work," Number 4 responded flatly.

"You're no fun."

"And you're whiny."

"Why, you don't like the attention? I must say you looked like you were enjoying yourself with your newfound popularity."

Number 4 scoffed and said, "They only did that to please the little girl."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You deserved it."

"I'm not. I just know that for a fact."

"Okay, okay, first you're popular, and now you know everything about life," she teased and held out a hand to touch the golden hair on his forehead. She could feel him flinched a little under her palm. "But, really, though. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself. Not everything is your fault."

"You don't even know what happened." His tone turned sour and it was usually sign for her to stop pushing the matter. But it was different this time. She knew exactly what she was talking about.

She smiled slightly—a rather grim smile. "I've seen your memories, remember? Even if I didn't, it was pretty obvious that you just wanted what's best for your brothers, and you did it. It just didn't go according to plan."

"But they paid the price for that…"

"That might be right. But let's look at things from the bright side; if you didn't get stranded here, I might still remain oblivious of the ability that might save a lot of people. And that little girl might get injured pretty badly if you weren't here."

"I don't need 'a lot of people', I just need people that's important to me."

"You must love your brothers that much, huh?" Merag joined by lying on the grass next to him, but she let her hands lying on each side while watching the clouds drifted off in the clear sky. "I love my brother too, and he's going to go to the war. I don't want him to go. But he has responsibilities to carry."

"What if he died in the war?"

"That's a dark thought…" she frowned, pondering. "But that's a possibility at a time like this. Well, if my brother died in the war, I would be really sad, of course. But I won't wallow in it. I'll keep living so that his sacrifice won't be in vain."

"You said as if that was easy," he scoffed, but when she didn't respond, he added, "Or have you lost someone before?"

"My parents died of illness years ago. My brother and I didn't even get to see them in their last moment because we were estranged to prevent the plague from spreading even further. When the crisis had gone, their remains were burned with the others just to be safe. So, we didn't have proper funeral either." She paused, swallowing back tears that threatened to leak out. After she had composed herself, she continued, "We were very sad and scared then, but we were lucky people around us were so nice that we could cope with the loss and dealing with other stuffs after that."

Number 4 was silent for a few moments, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Well, that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is; don't wallow in your misery too much. Losing someone is hard, I know, you know. But to say something like you want to die is an insult to their memories. Especially you. I know you tried really hard to protect your brothers, but the feeling was mutual between you three, right? Respect their wishes; protect the life they tried really hard to preserve."

The red-and-blond haired young man was silent for a moment, then he sat up, brushing bits of grasses and dirt that stuck to his back and hair. "I'll think about it."

Merag also sat up and grabbed his arm. "Hey, want to go to the village with me?"

He turned at her, frowning. "What am I supposed to do there?"

"I usually go with my acolytes, but you can be my personal assistant sort of thing this time. Just come with me. You have to work, and you need to make friends if you want to stay here."

"Whatever happened to 'threat to this land' and 'suspicious stranger'?" he asked, looking fairly amused.

"The second one sounds rather catchy, I must say. But I know for a fact that you're not a spy or even a criminal. Besides, we're basically a bunch of nice people. Suspicious doesn't mean we'd treat you like you're not human. We just won't let you near the important parts of the city."

Number 4 shook his head. "My brother said I was naïve. If only he could meet these people…"

Merag stood up and, as she was holding his arm, he was also forced to stand up. Before he could voice his protest, she had already started to make her way to the nearest village.

"What are you good at?" she asked along the way.

"Uh… causing troubles?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "More like being sarcastic, I believe. I'm serious here."

"Well, you think I'm not? They actually called me the troublemaker."

"Wow, I wonder why." This time, it was her turn to scoff. "It seems like we have a lot to work on. At least you're off to a good start with the little girl."

Number 4 smirked. "Challenge accepted."

She returned the smirk and tightened her grip, quickening her pace towards the village with Number 4 in tow. "That's supposed to be my line."

* * *

 

 **_Word Count_ ** _: 3,193_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I never intended to write a filler chapter like this, I swear my fingers have thought of its own. The next chapter's last part has been written since I don't even remember anymore (long time ago, I believe, since I usually write stories starting with the mid-part and the end-part, then filling the gap with strings of incoherent ideas). As for the first half of next chapter… I'm still struggling to come up with something nice... *sigh* Kudos and comments are always welcome!_


	16. Memories (7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... Merag's memories of her past life (while she was in coma after they returned from the ruins), it might help if you've watched episode 108-109, still partly inspired from[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _'s drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p)_
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!_

* * *

"We need some help over here!" shouted a voice.

Merag didn't even bother to reply and just focused to get her current work done—not completely, just enough to be easily handled by her acolytes, so that she could move on to the one who needed her immediate attention.

It had been happening for two days straight now, ever since the enemy thought that they were prepared enough to face The United Land of Poseidon head on and came marching to the front along with their gorgon monsters, stoned most of their front lines, then proceeded attacking the rest of the army. Nasch ordered to lessen the borders' guard to reinforce their rapidly dwindling forces. Luckily, though, the nature seemed to be in their favor as the maelstrom forced the enemy to retreat after their first battle. In the meantime, Merag tried to restore the stoned guards with her ability. It was yet another challenge for her, and she had only times before the storm subsided. It took her some times, but she actually managed to pull it before their next battle.

But that was just the beginning. Once the gale had died down, the enemy wasted no time on attacking them again. They battled day and night; sometimes it would last for an entire day, sometimes even less than one third of the day, depending on the weather since the battle ensued in their water territory. While Nasch and Durbe tried their hardest to keep the enemy away from the land, the opposing country seemed like they only wanted to cause bloodshed just for the fun of it. Vector, their leader, proudly announced that with booming voice accompanied with his trademark psychotic laugh.

More and more soldiers got wounded in the process and sent back to the castle ground to be tended—which meant more work for her and the acolytes. She was impressed herself at how she had managed to not fall exhausted after all those healing and tending to the wounded. She didn't even get the chance to take a breath and get outside of the castle's hall as she had forgotten the last time she actually did that. Her only interactions were with her acolytes and shouting soldiers asking for help. Even that, after a day of nonstop healing, she stopped replying and reserved all of her energy to move around and fuel her ability. She even neglected her duty to pay respect to the shrine and other villages, but that was the least of her worry.

How long would this carnage continue? Until the men couldn't fight, and she couldn't heal anymore?

The blue haired priestess walked towards the castle's gate and could see that the enemy had started to retreat for the day, and Nasch and his soldiers were regrouping on the shore, cheering and patting each other. Did that mean they had won? No, she wouldn't get ahead of herself. The enemy had probably run out of supplies and decided to retreat and call for reinforcement before eventually coming back here as they seemed so intent on finishing what they had started. Those people were beyond mad, that a no doubt, Merag thought, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she started to walk down the stairwell.

It had reached the second half of summer, where storm and rains would occur often. Today was a little cloudy, but there was no sign of rain—not for today, at least. She always liked rainy days, but with how things turned out lately, she couldn't say she liked it for now. Indeed, the rain and thunderstorm would put their enemy at disadvantage most of the time, but that applied for both of them under certain circumstances. For example, heavy rain would delay their return and thus obstructing the delivery of the wounded to the castle to be tended faster. Not to mention it was quite hard to get fresh, dry cloth to bandage the wound. And what was more frustrating was that didn't seem to stop the enemy anyway.

Nasch was still talking to his soldier in the port and Merag wondered what took her brother so long. She was still considering if she should approach them when she sensed something attracted her attention—she wasn't sure what, but she had already turned her head to the Castle's side. Whatever that was came from that direction—or so she thought. Curious, she started to make her way towards it, didn't know what to expect.

As she got nearer, the presence was getting stronger and it was a strange feeling; like she was missing out something she should've recognized immediately but still didn't know exactly what. It was when he walked past the small gate by the castle's side did she realized what had bothered her. It was the same feeling when she had dreamed of his memories after she had healed him during the purifying ritual.

"Oh, are you going out, ma'am?" Number 4 asked, stopping by the entrance.

She blinked, looking confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, um, I know you said I'm not allowed to go near the castle…" he fumbled for words but was interrupted with a little girl's chirping voice.

"I want to meet my brother, Merag-sama! So, I asked 4-niichan to accompany me! Please don't be mad…" the little girl, Carina, stood between the two.

"Oh…" it finally registered to her that the presence she had been sensing earlier was of Number 4's and that the fact that he had actually come to the castle with Carina. If he hadn't said anything about how he was denied access to the castle, it would probably take more times for everything to sink in. She looked at the direction of the shore, where the soldiers were still gathered and decided to take Number 4 outside before any of them back.

"I'm sorry, Carina, it seems like your brother's busy. Can we talk about it outside?" she urged and rushed to the small gate. She told the guard that she was going out then scurried off along with flustered Number 4 and bashful Carina.

"Sorry about that. I was just surprised that you came…" she explained once they were a good distance away from the gate and was now walking down the path towards the nearest village.

"I told her I can't go to the castle, but she insisted…" Number 4 said, still looking guilty.

"Well, that's not a problem. Carina, can you please go on and tell the guard in the shrine that I'm coming over there? Tell them to prepare extra snack for all of them, too," she told the little girl, who immediately looked eager to dash off to run the errand.

Number 4 stared at the disappearing figure of Carina with raised eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure you just got rid of that girl like you did the guards before."

Merag chuckled a little recalling the similar scene happened a few days back. "I need to talk about something."

"Something important that she shouldn't hear?"

The blue haired priestess nodded slightly, face turned grim and sighed. "I lied about her brother being busy. He's now resting in the castle's hall with other wounded soldiers…"

"That bad?"

"My acolytes and I managed to heal most of it, but with the weather lately, I'm not sure how everything will turn out." Merag covered her mouth with a hand, suddenly felt stressed out now that she had all the time to think about the whole situation without interruption.

"Are you okay?" Number 4 asked, sounding genuinely concerned but keeping his distance. She had kind of wished he would touch her shoulder or some other comforting gesture like Nasch always did whenever he saw her looking distressed. But knowing Number 4, she knew he wasn't comfortable being around people he didn't know well enough, much less touching them.

"I'm fine," she answered almost automatically, the kind of lip service one gave to reply the question about how they were doing. When there was no response from Number 4, she grimaced when she realized that anyone could see that she was anything but. "No, of course I'm not…"

He said nothing, so she continued, "I've promised Carina that I won't keep her brother away from her. But I can't even keep that promise. I can't do anything right."

"That's not true. You've succeeded healing me before, those obedient soldiers must be cakewalk for you," Number 4 responded.

Merag smiled slightly at his attempt to brighten the mood. "I can't disagree with that, though."

"And you shouldn't beat yourself about Carina's brother. He's really stubborn, saying that he wanted to serve the King and all that. No wonder she's really stubborn, too." At Merag's questioning glance, he proceeded to explain, "I was called when he was about to depart a few days back and was told to keep an eye on her while he's gone."

"So, you're staying in the village, now?"

"Pretty much."

"How's it going so far?" she asked, glad that she could change the topic.

"Not bad, I guess…" He shrugged, as if he wasn't sure himself.

"What are you doing there?"

"Hm… carving stones." Merag stopped walking and stared at him that he said, "What? I'm not allowed to carve stones, too?"

Merag shook her head. "No, it's just… I never imagined you to do such dainty handwork like that."

Number 4 smirked. "You never imagined me talking with big words after spending my lifetime as a slave. I thought I'd give you another surprise."

The blunette elbowed him in the ribs and continued walking. "Is there anything else I need to be surprised of?"

"I've got something for you." He shoved his hand under his tunic and drew out a blue carved stone the size of a pebble, holding it out to her. "Here, I dug and carved the stone myself."

Merag looked at the deep blue carving with surprise—wasn't sure which part she should be surprised of; he dug the stone himself (the dig site was only accessible to the excavator assigned by the King), or because he actually managed to make something out of it in less than a week time. As she had mentioned before, stone carving was a very intricate work of polishing and engraving shapes onto the rock. It required delicate hand and concentration, as well as creativity and patience. Her first impression of Number 4 was that he was a bit rough, especially since he had spent most of his life digging and working as slave. Who would have expected him to be adept with such complex process?

She took the stone from Number 4's hand, eyeing it intently. It was shaped like a small bird—one side bulging while the other was polished flat—with dots engraving arranged into flowery pattern on its round surface.

"I asked what kind of shape that would suit you, they told me to it would be the small blue bird," he explained.

"Blue-and-white flycatcher*," she corrected, holding the stone carefully like it was going to break if she put too much strength into her hands. "They got the loveliest singing voice around here."

"Yes… that, I believe."

"And why did you choose lapis lazuli?"

"It's the same color as your hair?" he offered, looking abashed.

"It's beautiful…" she marveled, then added, "Are you sure you took the stone legally? I mean, you didn't sneak into the site when nobody's watching or something like that?"

The red-and-blond haired young man huffed. "I asked permission from the keeper and when he knew I used to work in the dig, well… we talked some more and he let me in…"

"Wow, you actually tried to make friends…"

"I didn't. I just make acquaintance if I need something," he retorted.

Merag laughed softly remembering the exact similar conversation they had before. Somehow, the pattern was always the same but it was the details that she looked forward to. "Okay, whatever you say. Here, terrific work. I like it," she handed him back the stone, which received Number 4's frowning face.

"I said it's for you," he repeated.

Merag gawked at him. "For me? But I can't…"

"It's not like it cost me anything. It's a thank you gift for your hospitality."

The blunette looked around, stopping in her track again, and then turned to Number 4. "Has anyone told you for what do we use these kind of carvings?"

"Ritual or gift," he answered firmly, like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Well, do you know what kind of gift… okay, never mind," she immediately dismissed the idea and began walking again, her face felt hot. At least one of the villagers must have explained everything to him but for all she knew, he might have only listened to what he needed to know without knowing the full nature of what he had done.

"I actually saw one of those artisans carving the stones, and when I asked him where he got that stone, he said the mines provided it. That was when I came across the cave. I see you have some pretty good stuff around here," he told her. "I've practiced the pattern on pebbles before I applied it on the stone. It's too pretty to make mistake."

Merag glanced at him. "You must like this thing very much, huh? Never heard you talked this much before."

"I've spent my entire life digging stones, ma'am, of course I like it."

"I honestly can't tell if you're being sarcastic or what. I think I know why you always got into troubles."

"Are you sure it's okay for you to go out like this? I mean, something could happen while you're gone…" Number 4 asked, changing the subject.

"I haven't been outside for a few days straight now. I need this," she replied. "Besides, the enemy has just retreated. So, we probably won't have anything to worry about for the next few days."

Number 4 said nothing and followed her silently for the rest of the journey. When they had arrived to the shrine, Carina greeted them. The three of them went on a picnic with the entire guards and, at some point, someone nudged Number 4 to have another sparring session with them, which fueled by Carina's overjoyed squeal. They sparred until the sun had moved down a bit, and after that, the three went to the village where Carina resided.

The rush, the crowd, idle talk, warm greetings, kids running and yelling, trying to catch each other, men resting after a long day of hard work. It had been only a little less than a week since her last visit to the village, but she already missed all those activities buzzing around her. It made her forget that things had gone downhill since the enemy's attack, that everything would be okay again tomorrow, when the sun came out from behind the horizon and their life would be back to the same mundane routines.

She gazed longingly at the stone carving Number 4 had given her. It was really sweet of him, she thought, to ever think of giving something back. It would have been even more so if he knew what it meant. But maybe it was for the better. It was still too early for her anyway, and she didn't want to find out what her brother would do if he found out about this.

But again, she was lying if she said she wasn't happy. She was pretty used to gift as the villagers never failed to share their crops and pretty much anything they could give to show their gratitude. Number 4's motive was no different, and it would have felt so if he had given something less conspicuous. Now she was confused. There was something warm creeping from inside her chest and it only grew warmer the longer she looked at him.

If only she had more times to figure things out.

From the corner of her vision, she could see a beam of light cut through the dusky sky. She hadn't even finished turning her head when the first explosion shook the ground around the area it had landed on.

There were screams, shouting, destruction.

"It's the enemy!" someone shouted.

"They're back!" shouted the other.

And then, people started running. Some of the guards were running towards the light's direction, while the rest ran towards the castle, and she just stood there in the middle of it all. Vaguely, she could hear someone called her name, saying something—maybe they were talking about her, she was still too stunned—nothing registered in her mind.

Why was the enemy back? What was that light? What had happened?

Someone grabbed her hand, severing her train of thought abruptly and started to run. Automatically, her legs began to move so that she wouldn't fall. Another beam of light was shot, nearer to her this time. A shadow shielded her from the blinding light as her body being pushed forward.

"What—" she was stopped mid-sentence when she realized that Number 4's head was right beside hers that she could feel his breath tickled her neck.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have much time, ma'am!" Number 4 said, sounding panicked. He backed away slightly and began running again. She wanted to ask, but she couldn't waste another breath if she wanted to keep up with him. Whatever that had panicked him must be something—

She almost choked on her breath when she saw that it was an Ocean God, its huge figure looming from across the land. Indeed, the enemies were back, and they had brought far worse things along with them.

"4, where are we going?" she asked hastily, trying to stop him by using her feet as brake.

Number 4 stopped, although reluctantly. "The guard told me there's some sort of fortress near the square where we can hide, right? You have to hide there—"

"I'm not hiding!" she snapped, trying to squirm her hand free from his grip, but he only flinched a little. "I'm going to fight, too!"

The red-and-blond haired young man frowned, then turned his head to the direction of the God. "Against that?"

Merag pursed her lips and tightened her grip on his hand. "I'll think of something. I'm the Water Priestess, after all."

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but opted against it in the end and returned her grip. He started running against the current, dragging her with him towards the castle. Everything was in chaos; beams of light shot through the city, causing destruction to those came in contact with. It pained her to keep running while ignoring the scream of people perished in those lights, but she was the only one who could stop it, and to accomplish it, she had to get back to the castle, where her brother and his men battled against the one who had summoned that Ocean God.

Suddenly, she was jerked forward by him that she lost her momentum and stumbled upon a small rock, causing her to fall on her stomach, the beam of light was only a hair breadth away from her as she could feel the heat radiating off it. She yelped and reflexively held out her elbow to ease the impact, but winced when her skin grazed the rocky road, dust filling her eyes and nostrils that she coughed a little.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he called out.

"4?" she called back, looking around. It was hard to see in the middle of the thick screen of dust and smoke. She sat up to get a better look at her surroundings. She was really close to a toppled structure, pieces of rocks in various size and shape scattered around her, and judging by the movement he did before she fell down, could it be that…

Merag sighed in relief when she felt his hand grabbing her shoulder and helped her standing up. He smiled weakly at her, and she returned the smile, grasping his hand even harder, as if afraid he was going vanish if she let go. "Let's hurry," she said, starting to run again, but then stopped when she realized he moved sluggishly behind her. "4?"

"Go without me…" he hissed through his clenched teeth, his grip slackened.

The blue haired priestess turned her head slowly to find Number 4 bowed his head, one arm propped to a nearby wall to support his weight. "Wha—" the question stuck in the back of her tongue when she glanced down and caught glimpse of a bloodied leg.

Number 4 lifted his head, the corners of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to smile and failed. "I'll catch up to you later," he uttered, releasing his hand.

"No…" she responded spontaneously, refusing to let go of his hand. "We're going to make it to the castle together, 4!"

"You  _have_  to stop them, ma'am!" he stated firmly, urging her to let go by jerking his hand. "This is nothing. I can still make it back if I walk slowly. But you have to hurry,  _Merag-sama_!"

He was lying, anyone could see that. The jet of light had cleaved through the flesh of his left calf, and the blood wouldn't stop flowing until it dried out. How he even managed to stand up with such injury wasn't her biggest worry—if they could get back to the castle, she would be able to tend to it before it got worse. But they had no means to bring him back before the Ocean God destroyed everything; nobody to ask for help in this chaos, both of them knew that, but only one was willing to admit it. The fact that he used her name was enough indication that he was trying to wake her guilty conscience to prioritize her duty above everything else. He never called her name, and this was probably be his first and last.

"Promise me, 4," said Merag. "Promise me you'll make it back in one piece."

The red haired young man smiled again. He knew it, she knew it, but neither wanted to break the illusion. "Stop them first, and we'll sort it out later," said he, leaving out the part ' _if I don't die first, of course_ '.

Merag gave his hand one final squeeze before finally letting go and started to continue her track to the castle, her white hood billowed behind her. She could hear some more explosions not far behind, making her stumbling a little, but she stood back up and didn't look back, eyes wet with unshed tears.

Once she was back to the castle, she went to the balcony overlooking the sea to see the condition of the battlefield. The Ocean God was still shooting beams of light and she wondered how they even managed to summon it. She had read a few things about summoning monsters, but this was  _God_  they were facing—there should have been a considerable price to pay to summon it; a human sacrifice, according to her readings.

No. Nasch would never resort to such thing, even if it costed their entire country.

But the raging God had to be stopped somehow, and they could only face God with another God, or to purify the God itself. Ocean God was basically a being that protected, not destroying things. Such feat could only be accomplished by sacrificing vengeful and malicious soul that it corrupted said God. Now, if she was going to purify it, she needed another soul.

Unconsciously, she gripped the stone carvings harder with a trembling hand as she realized that she had been holding that all the way back to the castle, didn't even let go after she had fallen earlier. Why had she let go of his hand, then?

The blue haired priestess pressed her hands to the railings, leaning further to look at the direction where she had parted with Number 4. There was nothing to be seen but heaps of ruins now, no body in sight either. She wondered if he had reached someplace safe, but at the same time knew that it was a wishful thinking as she could feel his unmoving presence lying somewhere among those rubbles, his soul flickered like dying embers. The stone she was holding felt heavier somehow and she tucked it inside her robe.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, tears starting to blur her sight as she turned around and darted off from the balcony to the nearest stairwell. She had promised him to stop the raging God, and she'd do it, even if she had to break another promise.

The horse bucked in annoyance when she jumped on one of them but immediately took off when she pulled the rein. She couldn't see anything anymore, everything went into a messy blur as the horse picked up the pace; the trees, the sea, the people, Durbe flying somewhere over her head, even her brother's desperate scream were only cacophonies to her ear. She still saw him, and boy did he look miserable that she could feel her guilty conscience tugged her heartstrings, but it wasn't enough to transmit any energy to her numb mind. In another normal circumstance, she wouldn't be able to leave her brother like that, but this situation was anything but normal. Half of their lands were already decimated into mounds of dirt and stones and who knew what had happened to its residents? Buried under all of those destructions like him, perhaps? Even if they managed to win over their enemy, what'd happen to their kingdom after that? There was nothing to look forward but devastation.

A series of low chuckle escaped her lips. She was optimistic that she'd defeat the God and as it turned out, the only way she could do it was to sacrifice herself. Now things started to look for the worse in her eyes. Nothing would ever be right after this one battle, but at least she wouldn't be around to witness it. Such coward. To top it off, it all had to happen after her little speech about respecting someone's memories by staying alive. He must have hated her, she couldn't even stand her 'self-righteousness', like he had put it.

She could feel his presence quivered again, like he was being trapped in the boundary of life and death. Whoever died first would be the one that broke the promise and she couldn't bear him feeling guilty for something that wasn't in his control. He was still breathing—although sparingly—and he was as numb as hers—if not more, she had to end it as quickly as possible before those breaths ran out.

"I'm going to purify Abyss with my soul, oniisama," she said, surprising herself with how serene she sounded—a stark contrast to what she felt inside; fear, remorse and despair. Fear for what would happen to her brother once she was gone, remorse for a bunch of things she hadn't been able to do, despair for her beloved land as it was slowly being incinerated into a literal hell.

"No…" Nasch whimpered, voice cracking.

The wind blew her hood and the cold bit her skin. Everything looked so small from up here. Now she felt completely numb—in and out. Her brother screamed something, but she could only see his lips moving as she plunged into the darkness.

* * *

 **_Word Count_ ** _: 4,585_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*Blue-and-white flycatcher (Cyanoptila cyanomelana) is blue passerine bird also known as 'ooruri' (_ _大瑠璃_ _) in Japanese. The name uses the same 'ri' kanji as in Rio's name (_ _璃緒_ _) and 'ruri' (_ _瑠璃_ _) itself means 'lapis lazuli' (as in the gemstone and/or the color)._
> 
> _First off, the late update was because I just finished writing this a few minutes before posting it. So, yeah, I'm starting to run out of ideas… Okay, with this, the past semi-AU fic is officially over ( only the 'past' part, mind you, not the entire fic :p), and I honestly don't know what to write next… (I've written the epilogue for this collection, but there's still a lot of things I want to write before said epilogue that's still in rough draft inside my head). So, I probably will take a break from this fic for a while before eventually (and hopefully) updating again. No, it's not the end! Maybe… ugh… maybe someone could prompt me with something? I'm not sure. I've never done those prompt things before, not even in drawing since I'm moody AF. Anyway, reviews are always welcome, but I'm happy just by seeing the reader's count of this fic increased! ;-)_
> 
> **_P.S._ ** _I don’t know why I wrote this, but I just felt like I have to share this particular piece of thought to everyone… (some of you probably had figured it out, though… lol). I always wondered why V’s Numbers card was 9 and had no relation to number 5 whatsoever, in contrast to his brothers (who either has their number cards match their names (No. 40 and 33), or double the number itself (No. 88 (44x2) and 06 (3x2)), or even random combination like IV’s No. 15 (the Roman numeral for IV’s name is I and V, therefore converted into 15 in alphabetical numbers) card). Even their respective enemies in Zexal II had their number’s card (Semimaru’s No. 3 and Kurage’s No. 4), while V, in particular, was stuck with his No. 9 and Kaninja’s No. 2. First off, V’s name (in original Japanese version) was read as its letters (the letter ‘v’) and not its Roman numeral like his brothers (III (three) and IV (four)), so he was already on a different level then. Secondly, try to make the letter ‘v’ with your fingers and you’ll get number 2 (like a peace sign), that solves the question as to why Kaninja’s Numbers card was 2. What about his Dyson Sphere, then? Oh, well, since he’s the oldest, he has to represent the brothers as the strongest one (let’s just forget about how Dyson Sphere has a rather poor track record in the whole series, maybe it’ll do better against anything else but Galaxy Eyes Dragon), so if you sum up their (code)names, with V’s name using the same logic as before (make a V with your fingers again, quick), you’ll get this equation; 3+4+2=9! So, yeah, that’s how No. 9 is a perfect fit for V! :p_


	17. Altercation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(based on flashback in episode 58. And yes, I just broke my 'chronologically' rule. Screw it, I just want to write something in the middle of workday (yes, I wrote it when I'm in the middle of work, and posted it in my usual scheduled date) XD)_
> 
> **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexa land you know the brief already. I'm trying something else with this chapter, as well as the A/N :3_

* * *

IV leaned his back to the wall, trying to stay hidden in the alleyway, watching the crowd of middle schooler coming and going before him as he scrutinized every one of them. Not one matched with Tron's description, and he was grateful for that as he still hadn't thought about what he would say once he found her.

"Hey, want to duel with me?" was definitely would not do. She might decline the offer since he was a stranger, and worse yet if she was whiny, she'd scream and call him a pervert or some scene like that.

He mentally scolded himself for not thinking elaborately about his whole plan. But Tron had been urging him to proceed with his plan as he said he had sensed something would come that might potentially help their plan, and they couldn't miss the chance.

As much as he wanted to know what exactly was that 'something', he still couldn't get over the fact that the creepy masked child was really his father. Byron had been different since their mother's passing, but this was beyond comprehensible. It was as if their happy memories before had been eradicated completely from his brain and being replaced with his revenge plan. Could hatred do that? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what his father had gone through in that other dimension,

He couldn't say he hated Dr. Faker, or whoever had done that to their father. Heck, he had never even met the person and only heard the summarized version from his brother, V. Of course he was no stranger at hating as he had spent the last few years hating the children who had been picking on him in the orphanage and even went as far as plotting how to beat them. Nothing had gone according to his plan, of course, since there was only one of him and more of them. But again, this was completely different. He wasn't even convinced that Tron was really his father, how was he supposed to trust him and let himself went along and being told what to do?

No, he never did, but he was too coward to blatantly state otherwise against V. His brother was usually gentle and understanding, but he could be downright scary if he was pissed off, especially after what had happened to their father. When he thought about it again, his brother used to work with Dr. Faker too, no wonder he was a mess after the whole ordeal. From the way his brother had told him, that Faker character sounded a bit loopy, and it probably was contagious to those around him. At least he had one more reason to hate Faker, though that still hadn't diminished his distrust against Tron.

Now he was stuck here, unsure what to do and how. He desperately wished nobody paid any heed to him, he didn't want to be seen looking this pathetic. Just because he was in the middle of revenge agenda, didn't mean he had forgotten that he had always wanted to go pro in dueling, and although he had gained some fame by winning small tournaments every now and then, he still had a lot to work on; one of them was keeping his appearance.

If he was going to challenge this girl in a duel, he had to make sure he'd win—not that Tron would have it any other way since he was the one instructed him to duel with the girl. He had been wondering what was this girl's significance that he had to duel with her; the files his brother had given him had no mention of it whatsoever. Maybe she had some sort of powerful card that he had to take away by anté rule? No. That was too important details to be omitted. So, what was the point of him dueling with her?

IV had never seen the girl in any kind of tournament, unlike her brother, Kamishiro Ryouga, who was quite prominent in some junior leagues. He had never dueled with the boy face on, but he had seen some of his duels and heard whispers every here and there, saying he was a promising young duelist who might become a pro before he even graduated academy. If anyone he should be dueling with, it had to be Ryouga, not his sister.

"Rio, wait!"

Mention of her name perked up his ear. It was a boy's voice. He looked around, looking for the source of the voices until his eyes finally landed on a familiar purple haired boy running down the school gate towards his sister—who was a few feet away from him. IV was sure he had found the target this time as the girl was exactly like the photo he had seen.

"I'm going to have an exhibition duel after this, aren't you going to watch?" the boy asked, almost running out of breath.

"I have to shop for groceries today, I believe you can still win without me watching," the girl replied, putting a hand on her hip.

"Well, that's true, but—"

"No buts. Just win, and I'll make your favorite dinner tonight."

"I'm not a kid, and of course I'll win!" the boy snapped, face flushed slightly before turning around and stomped back to the school.

The girl just smiled and waving her hand, saying some more parting words and the she, too, turned around and started to walk away from school. IV waited until the girl passed the alley he was standing on, brain working on full speed improvising how he would act and what he would say to the girl.

"Kamishiro Rio-san?" he called out, charms oozing from his voice and demeanor, right when the girl took her first step before him.

The girl stopped and whipped her head to his direction, eyebrows raised. "Yes, I am," she eyed him carefully. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked back rather politely, not even a hint of surprise of being called by a stranger.

"I just can't help but notice that you're the sister of the almost famous Kamishiro Ryouga, aren't you?" he started, working his way into the conversation slowly.

Her eyebrows shot even higher. "That's new…"

Now, it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. The girl's reaction was clearly something he hadn't anticipated. "What is?"

"I mean, you may be the first fanboy of Ryouga. The ones I've seen are all middle school girls. How old are you, by the way?"

IV gaped for a few seconds before regaining his composure. The conversation had taken quite an unexpected turn and he wasn't sure if the girl was being sarcastic or serious—he suspected the prior. Anyway, he could still steer it back to his primary objective. "Ah, well, that's beside the point. I'm not here to gush over your brother. He's not as good as people make him out to be."

"Really? How could you know that? I don't remember seeing my brother ever dueled with someone like you in a tournament," she retorted sharply, her eyebrows had returned to its place and was now furrowed.

"Why would he admit a defeat that no one saw anyway?"

Rio narrowed her eyes and he returned it with a charming smile. IV had half-expected the girl seething indignantly, but his smile was thrown back by her a few seconds later. "What about you, Mr. Ridiculous Name? Would you admit a defeat no one ever saw?"

The red-and-blond haired young man should have been overjoyed that the girl played right into the traps, but after her remarks just then, he wasn't sure who was luring who into the trap now. Tron wanted him to duel to duel with the girl, and he would have expected a victory—why would he give him that one spell card anyway?

But now, he started to doubt himself. Of course thing about how he had dueled with Ryouga was a made-up excuse to start an altercation with her—heck, he had never even actually talked to the boy. And although he had always placed higher—or even won—some of his tournament over Ryouga, didn't mean he could win all the time. At least when he lost, he didn't put himself in a position that'd humiliate him by boasting too much. This situation might turn out like that if he kept pushing his luck, especially against someone who looked as confident as him, if not more. To top it off, he had never seen the girl dueled before, and therefore, didn't know what kind of deck she used while she might have seen how his deck worked since she had seen him in the tournament.

"My stage name is not ridiculous," he shot back. He couldn't back down—not now at least—as he had put himself in a position where he had shut any means of turning back. He had a tendency of doing that—a way of pushing himself to overcome his own limit.

Rio's smile widened as she set her duel disk and fished out D-Gazer from her skirt pocket. "We'll see about that, shall we?"

IV could feel sweat rolling down his temple as he forced the cocky smile stayed on his lips. It proved to be quite a chore as the doubt was only getting stronger when he said, "We shall, Ryouga's sister." He set his own duel disk and activated his D-Gazer tattoo.

The girl looked visibly irritated for a fragment of second before returning to her cool demeanor. Two could play this game, and he knew he was good at it. He only had to maintain the persona long enough and make her lose focus along their duel. He'd be alright.

Or so he hoped.

.

.

.

Kamishiro Rio stuffed her books inside her schoolbag, trying to break the all-time record of cleaning up her desk and dashed out of the school before she got caught by either Ryouga's fangirl trying to make friends with her so they could get closer to their 'idol' or her own fanboy. She would at least receive a love letter or confession once a day, and even though she had made it clear that she had no interest of going out with anyone for the time being, they didn't seem to listen.

Luck seemed to be on her favor as she managed to sneak out of the school undetected. Apparently, there was another exciting thing going to happen that they all gathered in the Duel arena—most likely a duel between someone popular.

Speaking of popular, she hadn't seen her brother since lunchbreak—not even in classes after that. He was probably playing hooky to practice dueling. She reminded herself to scold him when he got home today. Just because he was slowly gaining fame lately didn't mean he could ignore school. Being a pro duelist was cool and all—even she wanted to go pro someday—but she wouldn't let herself being lulled by such false sense of security. No one knew what'd happen to their future and she'd be ready to face anything that'd come at her by being prepared with another plan should she decided to try other career track.

Ryouga certainly thought nothing of that.

She wasn't sure if she should be feeling grateful that her brother's behavior was what had pushed her to act more mature to balance the dynamic between them. But she couldn't help but feel like she was the one doing everything herself. She couldn't imagine Ryouga living all by himself; or perhaps in turn, he'd be more responsible if he was living like that? Maybe she should try some sort of experiment like that. But that would be too troublesome; she had to find excuse that unabled her to be around him most of the time.

"Rio, wait!"

A familiar voice snapped her back to reality. She turned around to find her brother running down the school gate towards her—who was a few feet away from him. She raised her eyebrows as in demanding explanation.

"I'm going to have an exhibition duel after this, aren't you going to watch?" Ryouga asked—just like she had predicted.

"I have to shop for groceries today, I believe you can still win without me watching," she replied, putting a hand on her hip. She would always cheer for her brother, but that didn't mean she had to be present in every duel he was in, she had chores to attend after all.

"Well, that's true, but—"

"No buts. Just win, and I'll make your favorite dinner tonight."

"I'm not a kid, and of course I'll win!" Ryouga snapped, face flushed slightly before turning around and stomped back to the school.

Rio just smiled and waving her hand, saying some more parting words, then started to make her way back home. At least she didn't have to worry about what she'd make for dinner today anymore.

"Kamishiro Rio-san?" someone called out.

 _Oh, great_ , she thought. She didn't like getting ahead of herself, but she couldn't completely erase the uneasy feeling whenever she walked alone. Muggers weren't likely to call her name, so this was probably one her stalkers.

She stopped, whipping her head to the direction of the voice and found a boy with red and gold hair standing in the alleyway. "Yes, I am," she eyed him carefully. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked back rather politely, raising her eyebrows again.

"I just can't help but notice that you're the sister of the almost famous Kamishiro Ryouga, aren't you?" he started.

Her eyebrows shot even higher. What was the point of mentioning Ryouga? That was still to be seen, so she decided to throw him off guard by saying, "That's new…"

Now, it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "What is?"

"I mean, you may be the first fanboy of Ryouga. The ones I've seen are all middle school girls. How old are you, by the way?"

The boy gaped for a few seconds as she was busy figuring out who this stranger was. Maybe someone Ryouga had defeated in a tournament? No. She had seen all of Ryouga's official matches and didn't remember ever seen someone like him against her brother. Maybe other participant that Ryouga had not the chance to face? Most likely. But that didn't answer the question as to what business he might have with her.

"Ah, well, that's beside the point. I'm not here to gush over your brother. He's not as good as people make him out to be." He said after regaining his composure back.

"Really? How could you know that? I don't remember seeing my brother ever dueled with someone like you in a tournament," she retorted sharply, her eyebrows had returned to its place and was now furrowed.

"Why would he admit a defeat that no one saw anyway?"

Rio narrowed her eyes, and he returned it with a charming smile. So, that was the game he liked to play, huh? When she thought of it again, she remembered that charming smile and attitude from one of Ryouga's tournaments. He was one of the participants who also drew quite an attention from fangirls. What was his name again…? Something weird and easy to pronounce, but clearly wasn't his real name.

"What about you, Mr. Ridiculous Name? Would you admit a defeat no one ever saw?" she decided to return the provocation while still trying to figure out who he was exactly.

"My stage name is not ridiculous," he shot back indignantly.

Rio's smile widened as she set her duel disk and fished out D-Gazer from her skirt pocket. "We'll see about that, shall we?"

He wavered for a fragment of second before returning to his cocky smile as he said, "We shall, Ryouga's sister," he clearly said that just to irritate her, but she wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her ticked-off face. He set his own duel disk as a purple streak ran down the left side of his face. His left eye also changed from red to blue.

Interesting, she thought, but that only made him look even more suspicious. Heck, for all she knew, he might have just bluffing when he said he ever dueled with Ryouga. But she was the one challenging him to duel first, so she couldn't back down now. She'd win, and then pry information from him as to what was his intention on her and Ryouga. That was easy, if nothing went out of hand in the process, of course.

* * *

**_Word Count_ ** _: 2,777_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello! I'm back! And here's a little filler chapter for y'all! I've been spending the last few weeks doodling and exchanging doodles of IVRio in twitter! I was really overjoyed when I knew the accidentshipping has its own loyal fanbase in Japan! Even some of them are still producing doujinshi up until the latest YGO event in Japan! Aaah, I wish I could go there myself! Anyway, I ordered some of their doujinshi from Toranoana and Suruga-ya (Japan online merch-store of some sort), and also read a web-novel (originally published as a novel-doujinshi few years back, but after it was sold out, is now being republished in its own website, you can read it for free—if you can read Japanese, of course. I had a hard time reading it myself since I'm bad at reading kanji, but it was worth the effort, LOL). The novel was cute, seriously! And I'm not just talking about the super cute illustrations of IVRio, but the whole story was really interesting as it took place in a parallel setting where IV and Rio was engaged to each other. Anyhow… I'm prolly not going to update again for a while. Just a heads up ;p_
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> _P.S._  
>  **  
>  _I know I could've written a duel scene in this chapter, but let's be frank, I'm just too lazy to do it. I enjoyed the game (I play YGO Pro (YGO online game), by the way, lol), but among various summoning methods, I found XYZ to be the least practical and therefore never even bothered to utilize it (Synchro came in a close second, though). Besides, I mainly use pure Melodious deck, sometimes Melodious Pendulum (in RL and online) that specialize in special summoning, field-lock, and swarming with a rather straightforward playing style that focuses on attacking the opponent with effect-enhanced monsters 'til they run out of LP, so I don't use trap cards either (if I'm lucky, my field would always be locked in my first to third turn anyway, trap would only further brick the combo). Of course such strategy has flaws too (oh, I so hate Tachyon with passion, Metaphys, Blue Eyes Twin Burst, Monarch Ambush, and such, since they're Melodious' natural enemies), but I can't stomach some other decks that uses very complex summoning method like the Spyral, Stargrail (World Chalice), Cyberse, Draco, Zoodiac (I never won against Zoodiac by battle, they used up all their time special summoning that I won by default, seriously), and some other decks. I hate burn strategies, too, even though Trickstars are cute. So, yeah, I'm pretty stupid at making up strategies, which is why I'm stuck with my lovely Melodious faeries, LOL, since I don't want to use un-cute monsters (don't get me wrong, some un-cute monsters got cool deck like, say, Bakura's Occult deck, Gimmick Puppet, OOParts, Black Rose Dragon, Speedroid, Hanafuda, and even Crystal Beast, as well as some others (I like deck with distinct characteristics), but I just don't like using it myself :p). So, no, I don't think I can write an interesting duel scene, so saved you the trouble of reading some horrid duel scenes and presents you with my specialties; DRAMA! XD_


	18. Destiny & Irony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(based on no episode in particular. Happened in between episode 113 up to episode 126 (this fic wouldn't include most of the scenes from the anime, so I hope you guys still remember how it went). Honestly, though, I tried to write some good insert, but after re-reading some of my favorite accidentshipping fic, I don't think I could write anything better, you should just read their fics instead, which are; '[Tormented Skies](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/10056135/1/Tormented-Skies)_ _', two prompts titled '[Regret](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/10313140/2/31-AccidentShipping-Snapshots)_ _**'** _ _and '[Remorse](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/10313140/9/31-AccidentShipping-Snapshots)_ _' from '[31 AccidentShipping Snapshots](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10313140/1/31-AccidentShipping-Snapshots)_ _' by[im-aggressive](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4287875/im-aggressive)_ _, '[Hanging by a String](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9706317/1/hanging-by-a-string)_ _ ' _ _by[pirouetta](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1509250/pirouetta)_ _(click the link to see). I'm just going to add some more unnecessary details in this one chapter to make the whole situation feels a bit more dramatic and connected with my alternate universe._
> 
>  **_Disclaimer_ ** _: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal_ _and you know the brief already._

* * *

This was so wrong.

He didn't know what had happened to her but she wasn't supposed to be bedridden like this—for the second time even. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask what had happened so he didn't know how bad was her condition this time. Judging from the amount of beeping machine in the room, it was safe to presume that it wasn't as bad as the other one—the one he had caused.

The taste of copper started to fill his mouth as memories of that day came rushing back. It had been a while since the last time had been having that particular dream as he started having those series of strange memories slash dreams in its place, but that didn't mean he had forgotten. The sight of her helpless, lying figure made him feel repulsed at himself, even though he wasn't the one causing it this time. He hadn't even been in town when it had happened, so he couldn't even play the I-couldn't-protect-her excuse. Besides, she was more than capable of defending herself when needed, he knew that for a fact, unless the enemy resorted to underhanded means—just like he had been.

Bolt of lightning flashed though the sky outside the curtain-covered windows, illuminating the room with its light—although subdued slightly by the pristine white curtain. He didn't even realize that the rain had gotten worse outside as he was drowning too deep in those images to pay attention.

His deck was another thing, he was never fan of supernatural stuff in his general life, but he found himself feeling slightly uneasy at the pouring rain at a time like this. It gave some sort of feeling that something bad was going to happen. It might or might not be coincidence that bad things tended to happen in rainy days, but when one thought about it simply, rain made the road wet and when people was being a bit too hasty with their feet or vehicle, the rain would only worsen the possibilities of someone running into accident on such slippery road.

But accident didn't always happen on the road now, did it? This one hadn't even happened in this particular dimension, and—according to the stories he had heard from his brother, it happened in the ruins of some sort of alien's old civilization.

Wait, if that was alien's place, wouldn't that make him an alien, too? He used to be there once upon a time, after all. All this reincarnation stuff had started to drive him crazy. It'd be easier if he hadn't remembered, they said ignorance is bliss, after all—whoever 'they' were.

Speaking of bliss, he wondered if she—along with Ryouga—was also having that memories-filled dream. He had half-suspected that they should have, considering they had also stepped their feet in that old civilization—he still wasn't sure himself, though, and desperately wanted to ask either of them about it.

But here she was, bedridden and unconscious while only God knew where Ryouga was right now. III had said that Ryouga was acting a little weird since their return (according to Yuuma)—which gave him even more reason to believe that it had something to do with their long lost memories. Maybe he should go help Ryouga instead since there was nothing he could do about Rio anyway.

"Later, ma'am," he whispered softly before turning his back and started to make his way out of the room.

The red-and-blond haired young man had just reached the ground floor when he heard familiar voices rang from across the room. He turned his head just in time to see the elevator's door closing, obscuring the telltale pink curly pink hair beside a jagged end of magenta hair poking up someone's head whom he had guessed in that split-second moment. He smiled bitterly, realizing that he had taken his time climbing down the stairs like he had last time. If he had to go to the hospital with the same reason one more time, he would've developed an allergic reaction of some sort to that particular transporting device.

Since his brother was here, he decided to wait for them to go back down and return home together as well as catching up with whatever happened during his stay at Yuuma's place. He had heard the summarized version, but he wanted to see the boy himself as he needed something to divert his attention from what had been bothering him for quite sometimes now—mainly the newfound memories of his past.

He didn't really pay attention as to how long he had waited until he heard that familiar voices again—sounding panicked this time. It took him a few seconds to recognize his brother without his usual red robes but that was hardly the problem right now. He heard familiar names being mentioned alongside a few things that screamed trouble even though he couldn't quite grasp the situation with just the things he heard.

IV wasted no time moving closer to the three and asked, "What's the matter, III?"

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.

.

Merag held up a hand, watching the soft pink fabric of her sleeve turned to white. At first, she thought it was some sort of a glove reaching up to her upper arms. But when she moved her arm, there was no telltale feeling of tight fabric squeezing her skin, there weren't even creases or folds where her elbows bent, it was all her skin all along, spreading throughout her body in white, blue and golden, creating a dress-like shape around her waist.

 _Huh, it feels weird…_  she thought.

She couldn't feel her mouth when she realized that there wasn't any, but she could still feel the rumbling of incoherent noises formed inside her throat, right around where the vocal cord should be—if her current body still worked like that of human's, of course. If she tried to talk, would the sound of her voices will…

"What are you doing, Merag?"

The blunette was cut short when Durbe's deep voice rang in her ears. Of course they could still talk, how foolish of her to think that she would still be limited with human's capabilities. She was a Barian now, an entirely different being from that of human and such, her biology would also change. Just because human couldn't talk without mouth, didn't mean she also couldn't. She couldn't even feel any blood running through her vein anymore, but she was still moving and thinking, a trait similar to that of living humans, but she was denied their full face save for two eyes that looked no different than any other humans.

"It feels weird, you know," she replied, caressing her cheek with a hand. It felt cold under her equally frigid palm, like a metal mask of some sort. "I've gotten my memories back—most of it, at least—but it still feels weird…"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Maybe I've been wearing mask for too long."

Durbe was silent for a moment, turning his attention away from her to the crimson sky above their head. "You're not hesitating, are you?"

Merag turned her head to the young man on her side, and for a fragment of second, her Barian form wavered into that of Rio's, flicking a wry smile in that blink of opening.

"And if I am?"

.

.

.

This was crazy

One minute, he had learned that he had some sort of past life before this, and then there was another thing about how the Kamishiro siblings hadn't supposed to survive the car crash—that Kamishiro Ryouga and Rio were long dead years ago. It was easier to conclude that their current life now was the reincarnation of their past self, but there seemed to be something else in between.

True, he had died early in his (presumably) previous life, so that he couldn't possibly know the aftermath of the battle with the Sea God. Had she managed to defeat the God? Had she survived the battle? What about her brother? What had happened after that? He wanted to ask Ryouga desperately but couldn't quite explain himself as he had never met him in their previous life. Besides, the boy seemed distracted after their tag duel.

Well, who wouldn't after someone told you that you were just a ghost? He thought dryly.

Maybe he should just ask her—if she had regained her consciousness, of course. According to his brother, she was still in a comatose state—after she had supposedly recovered from being strapped to bed—not to mention that she just barely got away with being poisoned by that disgusting jellyfish guy.

This was so messed up, he thought.

Everyone seemed to be on edge with their own problems right now; even the perpetually-optimistic Yuuma was no exception. Nothing went according to plan these days and his family was now being the one trying to put everything into its place.

Talking about ironic.

He was lucky he wasn't the one being strapped to bed this time; although witnessing her suffered the same fate as before did nothing to ease his already tumultuous mind as he trudged along the, strangely, almost-empty pavement. Not that he complained, though, he didn't feel like seeing people's faces.

The red-and-blond haired young man couldn't care less about anything else nowadays. There were only so many rooms left in his crowded mind and interacting with strangers—mainly his fans—didn't even get its own room anymore. It had been shoved away to the forgotten corner of his brain to mingle with other things he had deemed unnecessary and rather frivolous for the time being. No, all he wanted to do now was to make sure that the earth wouldn't be destroyed by whatever it was invading them—that so-called interdimensional war between the Barians and Astrals.

 _The hell with that_ , IV thought sullenly. There was only one thing mattered at the time being, which was making sure that she was okay after that jellyfish fiasco the other day as well as finding more about his past—if he could at all.

"…the patient has gone missing!"

"Check all around the hospital! Nobody leaves or enter this place for the next thirty minutes!"

Was what welcomed him when he stepped inside hospital's lobby. Nurses were running amok, shouting orders and shuffling around like headless chicken. Missing patient? Maybe they were simply being claustrophobic having to spend too much times inside a closed-up space filled with beeping machines? He had never been admitted to hospital before, but he certainly could relate to that.

But, then,  _her_  name popped up somewhere amidst all that chaos. He wasn't sure what they were talking about but it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and conclude that it was Kamishiro Rio who had gone missing.

 _Great, just great_ , he thought as he whipped his back and started to make his way out of the hospital.

.

.

.

She was used to looking down, especially at those whom she had defeated in any kind of competition—mainly Duel Monsters. While she wasn't usually a condescending person, she wouldn't deny that it gave her some sort of smug satisfaction after showing that other person that she wouldn't be defeated easily by looking down at their sorry faces.

But this time, she was literally looking down, with no sense of satisfaction at all. She was standing on one of the tallest building in Heartland overlooking a decent part of the city spread under her feet, shrouded by the slowly approaching shadow.

Soon. Soon, this would all be over and her people would get what they deserved; a proper place to live and establish their society. There were only a few things needed to be sorted out between them—namely with the other Emperors.

Even though she had said that she had remembered everything, she felt a strange feeling tugging at the back of her mind. Something was missing from those recollections, but she still wasn't sure which part seemed a bit odd. That, and the fact that her mind kept wandering back to  _him_.

He had been there with her, he had (most likely) died too that time. Why wasn't he revived as a Barian? Could it be that he had survived after all? What had happened to him after that?

 _Ah, this isn't good_ , she thought shakily. How many times had she been wavering until now?

"Rio!"

Merag's—no, Rio's—whole body tensed at the familiar voice, afraid to look back to find what she had been dreading about.

"What are you doing here? The hospital's running crazy since you were gone! Are you sure you're good enough to wander off like that?!" he shouted, voice drowned slightly by the rumbling thunder behind the dark clouds up above.

Silent for a few tense seconds and he was about to call her name again when she cut him short, "I'm more than fine, as you can already see."

She could hear he sighed in relief while she had to fight the urge to snap—she didn't know why; she just wanted to snap at him that circumstances had changed, and that he shouldn't be relieved just yet. Their battle was just about to begin, after all.

But then, he chuckled nervously. "Yeah, now that I found you, I'm quite ashamed to admit that I've lost Ryouga this time. Everyone seemed to be missing today. Even Yuuma willingly let himself to be transported to another dimension."

 _No, you don't know what you're talking about_ , she mentally shook her head, still not turning around to face him.

"Let's go back with the others. It'd be a great help too, if you could help us find Ryouga—"

"Are you stupid?" she bit out rather harshly, unable to suppress her disdain any longer. He was the one who had sent her to the hospital before, denying her half a school year, and then he had to appear in her memories, making her already complicated situation even more complicated.

Oh, well, it wasn't his fault in the first place, but she needed something to vent her frustration, to vent all those swirling emotions, to release it, to turn her wholly Barian; cold and unfeeling like its Barialite core.

But no, he had to appear here, sending hot rush to her bloodstream and not once allowing the crystal to take over. Maybe she should just challenge him to a duel, bury him, and get it over with—quick and painless. But again, Nasch wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. IV had mingled in too much with their lives that she wanted to curse so bad at him.

"Rio?" he called again, sounding unsure—probably unsure what she had said just then.

 _Alright, let's do this the hard way_ , Rio straightened her back and turned around slowly, aiming for a dramatic movement without making it too obvious that she was actually afraid to face her own demon. He was a few feet away from her, looking stiff and obviously confused but held himself pretty well.

"How did you find me?" she asked out of curiosity, despite herself.

IV furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you doing up this high anyway?" he returned the question, tilting his head slightly.

"Looking up," she answered and immediately demonstrated it by looking up to the dark sky for a couple of seconds before returning her gaze to him.

His eyebrows furrowed even deeper. "Something strange is happening in this place."

 _Yeah, no kidding._  "Will you come with me this time, 4?"

She could have sworn that her lips moved on its own, for she could feel her face contorted into that of a shocked countenance like him—if not more—upon hearing the question slipped out from between her lips.

"Coming where?" he asked back, wary lacing his voice.

"I don't know yet. But I'm making good of my words now." She paused before continuing, letting her lips process the words forming involuntarily from the deepest part of her brain without comprehending why and how. "We're going to make it through together."

IV's eyes widened slightly, as if recognizing something else from her words. His lips quivered, about to say something, but hesitated.

"If I were to stay, would I end up dead in the end?" he finally said after a moment.

Somehow, Rio felt relief wash over her body knowing that he remembered it too. "We were both dead in the end."

"Then, what difference would it make?" he also looked visibly relaxed at that. "Besides, your brother wouldn't like it if someone's lower than a peasant mingles with the likes of you."

"Why repeat the same mistake if we could make it better?"

"You don't know about it yet."

"Well, at least stay with me until we find out?"

Silence for a few seconds, both of them looked straight into each other's eyes like a staring contest. Neither of them showed sign of giving up.

"Now I know why I wasn't revived along with you, your brother, or your people," the red-and-blond haired young man said slowly, eyes casted downward. "My loyalty stayed with my brothers, my family, and it stays that way, even now."

"That's a no, then." It wasn't a question, and she was terrified at how serene she sounded. He was making it way too easy that she had no chance to feel that warmth just a little longer as the crystal started to take over her body while looming darkness swallowed her slowly changing form.

"Goodbye, 4," she whispered quietly, only loud enough for her to hear, eyes closed and wished desperately that she would be gone quick enough so that he didn't have to see her alien form.

And then, there was only darkness.

.

.

.

That was smooth, very smooth that he wanted nothing more than to beat himself to death. She was right before him and he just let her go like that. He didn't even give her enough reason why he would stay, or why shouldn't she follow him.

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

Strangely enough, he felt calm—at least on the outside. He knew that he had made the right decision by sticking with his brothers, there was never another option from the start, but what about her, then? He wouldn't say she was wrong to stick along with her people and its plan to destroy Astral world, that'd be hypocritical of him. He knew how it felt wanting to do anything for the sake of good old days, after all. These people probably were the same.

From the way she moved or even looked at him, he could see himself reflected in her, throwing back everything he had done to his face. He could see that she was unsure of the path she had chosen—just like he had been a few months ago. Unfortunately, she ended up choosing the other side. There were still many things he wanted to ask her, and he regretted that he couldn't do that before the Interdimensional war in which either one of them might not live through it.

_"Why repeat the same mistake if we could make it better?"_

Her words rang loud and clear inside his head, and just now he realized that she didn't exactly say which mistake she was talking about; their choosing different path and ended up dying, or was it about that time when he had chosen to do whatever Tron had told him without question?

Technically speaking, the former was never a mistake no matter how he looked at it. He only did what he thought was necessary, he knew that she knew that too. But, considering the context of the conversation, she had been saying it as if it had been a mistake.

Well, she had said that they died in the end, had she stayed with him, she'd have died sooner that way. So, all in all, it was hardly a mistake.

Absently, IV looked up, watching dark clouds rolled around the sky, followed by series of lightning. There was definitely something off about the whole situations. What was with the dark sky? The thunder? Those weird insect guys (save for one jellyfish)? There was something off with the way the whole plan was conducted, like they didn't have enough time to properly discuss and just improved upon it without clear instruction. Well, that was just like them when they had been manipulated by Barian, though. Maybe those Barians weren't really a good planner either?

Oh, well, he went on thinking too much again. He had no hesitation to refuse her invitation before, so he might as well make the most of it. There was still no news about Ryouga, and it was probably safe to presume that he had gone to the other side too, along with Rio. Now, maybe he could still convince them to go back and rethink their plan. Maybe there could still be salvation; some other way out for all of them without having to kill anyone.

.

.

.

He looked surprised, even though she knew that he had already known about her. Maybe he hadn't seen her Barian form that time and was surprised to see it for the first time, or maybe he was simply surprised that Ryouga—Nasch was the leader. He had probably thought that he could convince either of them, but now, with Ryouga as the leader, he had to work extra hard to influence the most influential person among them.

 _Good luck with that_ , she thought as she looked down at him and his brothers. There was no smug satisfaction, no arrogance, no nothing. Her Barialite core was cold and still—unmoving, even to the sight of him. She couldn't complain, though, that was exactly what she wanted; unwavering resolution.

And she thought he might be able to stop Ryouga—or at least, her. Wishful thinking, indeed.

.

.

.

IV's magenta eyes blinked, trying to swat away the hazy blur slowly filling his field of visions. His body was sore all over and it was hard to breathe. It was almost as if all of his bones were crushed and all he did was lying flat on his back.

Well, it wasn't like there was anything else he could do in such condition, but he was in a rather tight schedule right now; he had to bring back Ryouga and Rio to his side.

 _Oh, there he is_ , he thought as Ryouga appeared within his blurred vision—Ryouga, not Nasch. He had succeeded on turning him back. But if he did, he wouldn't be this miserable now, would he?

"IV."

He could hear Ryouga mumbled and only then did he remembered how he had ended up beaten and battered like this. Maybe, it was only fair now that Ryouga used him to fully transform himself into a Barian by severing their connection. But that didn't make it less annoying knowing he had been manipulated to release his wrath—just like their last duel against each other, only this time, Ryouga was the one doing it.

Was that how she felt when he had activated that card that soon burned her? He knew how it felt being betrayed by the one he trusted most after their fiasco in World Duel Carnival, but what about some relative stranger who used you just because you were convenient at the moment? What if it was Yuuma who confronted Ryouga? What if it was his brothers or some other strangers?

No, that wasn't likely to happen as the moment he had set eyes on their—Kamishiro siblings—Barian form, he knew he would be the one to confront either of them. Ryouga should have known it too. He was one of a few with enough reason and willpower to do it, after all. But apparently, it wasn't enough. So much for being a 'friend'.

"I hate you, you know that?" IV said with as much hatred as he could muster to his croaked voice. "Using me to fulfill all those destiny crap of yours…"

"You've finally realized it, huh?" Ryouga replied calmly, face devoid of any emotion.

"In the end, I'm not the one to change your destiny, huh?" he was still having a hard time breathing, but that didn't stop him from saying those words. "You're going to fight Yuuma and others now, right?"

"You did say it was my destiny."

"Yeah, I've figured it'd be like that. I believe 'destiny' is another word for 'irony'." He chuckled upon remembering his questions to Rio. He died again and if Ryouga and his Barian cronies managed to fulfill said destiny, at least she'd stay alive. Although, that was a highly unlikely scenario, not when his brothers, Kaito, Yuuma and Astral people all joined forces to stop them with all their might. They'd both ended up dead again this time.

Now she knew why she had said that it was a mistake. She knew they might end up dead regardless which side they chose, but at least, if either of them had chosen the other side, they wouldn't have to suffer the same fate  _alone_. But again, leaving their brothers was never an option to begin with, were they also destined to die lonely, miserable death over and over again?

"I'm glad I was able to fight you one last time," his lips moved again.  _The hell with destiny, the hell with Barians, the hell with you all_. "I'll be waiting for you in hell."

With that, his body slowly dispersed into million sparkling light. At least it didn't hurt like last time, he thought before completely disappeared into the dark sky.

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.

.

_I did say it was a mistake then, didn't I?_

Merag watched with wet eyes as her opponent's body—or what had become of it—flew up to the crimson sky, along with all those defeated ones—including  _him_. It was just like him, though, to be unreasonably stubborn, she thought. Who she was to be talking about other person anyway?

With him gone now, there was nothing holding her back anymore. She could be fully Barian and fulfill her destiny, even if she'd die in the end. With that being said, sparkling tears still made its way out of her eye socket, letting the last remaining hesitation out of her Barialite system.

_Wait for me in hell, will you?_

* * *

**_Word Count_ ** _: 4,425_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello again, long time no see you guys! Ahem. After spending most of my times doodling IV-Rio in twitter, I decided that I want to see more of them alive—be it in writing or in drawing, and it was a real burden just to be the only one carrying it. So if there's anyone else loving this cute pair, I beg you to just do the bloody drawing and/or writing already! I'm in head over heels over these two that I need mooooore of their dramas! Just start one, don't mind the quality, you'll get better over time (except, maybe, myself… ahem, LOL). Anyway, do visit my twitter; marume_chiisa if you're interested to see moarrr of IV-Rio illustrations I made. Please note that most of the short comics are all in Japanese, and you should start learning it, seriously._
> 
> **_P.S._ ** _There is this one forum discussing about alternate universe where Zexal casts are involved in the event happened in Arc-V, namely the destruction of Heartland. It's set a few years after Zexal timeline, so most of them are all grownups, with addition of Arc-V's Kurosaki siblings and Yuto. The pairing includes Yuto-Ruri, Yuma-Koto, IV-Rio, and, to my surprise, V-Aka (with their cute daughter; Mikki, I don't know how it's supposed to be written in alphabet, though, I can barely read Hangeul). There're bunch of illustrations and short stories as well as short comics, and I would really like to join if not for the fact that IT'S ALL IN KOREAN. Dang it! I've talked to one of the owners via twitter (luckily, they speak Japanese because I know this particular one had participated in 2016's IV-Rio's Anthology) and asked for permission to use their idea, and they said I could as long as I give credits if I used illustrations provided in the forum (I saw the topic first from drawings in pixiv, so I didn't know about the forum before that). I didn't ask much since they gave me link to the forum and probably expected me to miraculously read the whole bloody details all written in Hangeul (Korean characters). Google translate did help, but you know it could only do so much before they start turning the whole thing into a bloody mess that speaks nonsense, so I have pretty much little idea as to what happened with the Resistance group and duel and relationship and all that. I can always improvise mine, but elaborate colossal story is never my thing. Should I try writing it anyway? And should I write it as a continuation of this short-story collection (which will most likely be focused on the drama and not much else)? Or should I write an entirely different fic (which will most likely be focused on the drama anyway, only with different background than this one)? Tell me what you think because I really want to! I need more of IV-Rio and if no one else is doing it, I'll do it myself! (Probably, though, as if I could muster that much energy to do it, but meh, YOLO)_


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